Follow the Fool
by CantFaketheFunk
Summary: Four months after the final case in PW2, Franziska von Karma is forced to reexamine her life yet again when a certain woman comes to Germany to see her. Implied Franziska x Adrian, Shoujo Ai... SPOILERS FOR PW2, naturally
1. Arrivals

**Follow the Fool**

_One_

It had been a week since the phone call. That unexpected phone call that threw a wrench into the gears of Franziska von Karma's carefully arranged life from a woman she'd never expected to want to talk to her again. A phone call that had interrupted her furious concentration in building yet another ironclad case, thrown her off her game, and made her look like a puerile fool in the eyes of the policemen who worked under her.

Come to think of it, it should have made her mad. But it didn't.

For what seemed like an eternity, there had been no sound on the other end of the phone, and Franziska had briefly wondered if the other woman had hung up. Then she spoke. Her voice was the same as the young prosecutor remembered, soft and subdued, though there was something different in her tone. Back in the investigation, every word Adrian Andrews had said had been laced with a sort of melancholy unease, a pervasive malaise that even she couldn't quite hide. Of course, it made sense given that when the two met, she'd just finished tampering with evidence; desecrating the body of a man she pretended to love in order to frame her own professional client.

Still, though it hadn't mattered to her at all at the time, Franziska was perceptive enough to hear something more in her voice—particularly with the reports she'd read not half an hour before about Adrian's suicide attempt. The shadow of Celeste Inpax weighed heavily upon the woman's heart, even years after the fact.

Franziska wasn't quite sure what exactly she expected Adrian to sound like after four months in prison, but she did know she didn't expect the other woman to sound almost … _happy_. Adrian's voice was still as soft as she remembered, but there was a tone in her words that sounded light, lifted—unburdened. It took the prodigy by shock, loath as she was to admit it.

"_I… didn't think you'd answer the phone."_

Trying to find her voice, Franziska at last responded, hoping that nobody would catch her brief stutter. "I-isn't this the phone number I left with Miles to give to you? Why would I not answer the phone I told you to call me at if there was trouble? I keep my word." _Except when I told you that you'd be fine if you did what I told you._ The blue-haired girl paused. "…is there trouble?"

"_No! Not at all! N-nothing like that!"_ the older woman exclaimed, _"And I knew that you would pick up, but I… nevermind, it's silly. I just… I wanted to thank you for everything you've done for me."_

_Everything I've done for you? Land you in jail for perjury and obstruction of justice, and almost get you put squarely on Death Row? What's there to thank me for? _ "And I…" _wanted to apologize to you._ "I… think that maybe it would be best for us to talk in person, though."

"_O-oh! Yes, maybe… maybe that would be best. Where are you? I thought Mr. Edgeworth said that you'd returned to Germany."_

"Actually, I have. I'm practicing law in Hamburg." There was a long pause from the other side of the phone.

"_Then… how could we…?"_

_She'd never say yes, to fly almost halfway across the world to see the girl who was responsible for such hardship. Still, even asking might help correct that mistake._ "As a prosecutor, I am paid quite sufficiently. It would be no trouble to book a flight from Los Angeles to Germany, after all." Actually, it probably would be trouble to do so, though Franziska was confident that the travel agency would be persuaded by the crack of her whip, if necessary. "That is, if you would be interested."

Franziska heard a soft, long sigh from the other end of the phone. _"Maybe… I'd… I think I'd like that. Maybe getting away from here is just what I need… if only for a little while. I… I don't really have any place to stay here for a while, anyway. But I can't ask you to do that! That's too much!"_

_No, it wouldn't be enough._ Though she wasn't completely expecting Adrian's answer, it wasn't really a surprise. Perhaps she'd known the answer somehow, in some part of her that she couldn't really access… it _would_ be a lot of money, and regardless of how well putting the scum of the earth behind bars paid, it was not an expense easily afforded for a girl who had not yet turned 19.

Still, it was something she could do to a person she'd wronged. Perhaps Adrian was right… perhaps it would do her good to get out of that city of smog, dirt, and filth—specifically, the human sort of filth. She could come to Hamburg and enjoy herself, relax for a few days…

So six days and two criminal trials later, Franziska von Karma found herself at the International Airport of Hamburg to pick a blonde American up from an eight-hour plane flight. A throng of porters and other lazy, unambitous people were blocking the doorway leading from the lot where she'd parked her small compact car… loitering and chattering like a flock of the foolish fools that they were.

_CRACK!_

Her whip bit the air, and the loiterers jumped nearly in perfect unison, spreading out away from the center door. "Thank you," said the young prodigy as she calmly walked through the now-unblocked entrance, coiling her whip in one smooth motion as she did so.

A quick glance at the Arrivals/Departures board told her that the flight from LAX had just finished deplaning—her timing was impeccable, as it always was. Franziska briefly mulled over the foolishness of the word "deplaning" before dismissing it as irrelevant and heading to the baggage carousel where she and the American woman had agreed to meet. Unfortunately, both Franziska and Adrian were rather on the shortish side, and the flight from America had apparently been a crowded one.

Franziska's black-gloved hand wandered to the handle of her lash, but she repressed the urge. She did not need to resort to such foolish and juvenile measures simply to find another person in a crowd, after all. However, after about five minutes had passed of weaving in and out of the crowded mob, she was severely reconsidering her earlier decision.

She was just about to unleash the fury of her leather upon the crowd when she heard a familiar voice, tinged with frustration and a bit of desperation. "I'm sorry, I'm telling you, I can't speak German!" Making her way towards the origin of the sound, Franziska found a rather anxious-looking Adrian Andrews being cornered by a short, hairy taxi-cab driver who was trying to convince her to hire him as a driver. As he was communicating solely in German and didn't seem to understand English, it wasn't exactly going very well.

The young lawyer smirked, her hand darting to her side.

_CRACK!_

With a yelp, the squat little cabbie jumped, clutching his bottom where her whip had stung him. He turned and angrily demanded an explanation, but Franziska merely held the lash above her head, pulling it taut in preparation for another strike. "Leave her alone and go scrounge somewhere else for your little pocket change, fool." Though he didn't look convinced by her words, he was more than sold by the threat of her whip, and quickly scurried off. The crowd, which had turned to see the source of the loud snap, stared in silence for another fraction of a sentence before turning back to their tasks at hand, unfazed. Travel did strange things to people.

Adrian was wearing a thin black sweater, slightly transparent, through which Franziska could make out a sky-blue halter top of the same style that she'd worn during the investigation of Juan Corrida's murder four months ago—the first time the two of them had met. Her golden hair seemed shorter, though it was impossible to tell because it was pinned up in the back. All in all, she didn't appear to have changed much in those four months.

The slightly shorter woman looked at her "rescuer," and seeing Franziska, smiled softly but warmly. That was new, thought the young lawyer—she'd heard from Miles that Adrian had changed in that regard, but hadn't actually seen her since the final moments of Engarde's trial. It wasn't a confident smirk, nor was it a wide, beaming grin… it was small and subdued, but there and very real, carrying up into her bespectacled dark brown eyes.

Franziska wasn't used to people… smiling at her. Cocky grins of the defendant before she and her whip dashed their hopes, yes. Arrogant smirks of other lawyers at her youthful appearance and age, of course. But never a warm, genuine smile that she could remember. It almost made her feel uncomfortable.

"Hello, Ms. Andrews. I trust your flight went well? If you will follow me with your bag, I'll show you to my car." She turned almost a bit too quickly, trying to catch her composure. It was almost maddening… the whip-wielding prosecutor daughter of the famous and nigh-invulnerable Manfred von Karma, shaken by a simple smile? Shameful and foolish, of course.

She could hear the click-clack of Adrian's shoes on the tiles of the airport as the blonde woman followed her, and slowed her stride a bit to make it easier. Franziska motioned with a gloved hand to a nearby compact car nestled perfectly into a ground-level parking space. "That is my car, if you would like to put your suitcase into the trunk." In a smooth motion, the blue-haired prodigy procured her keys and popped the trunk with a simple button press, unlocking the rest of the car virtually simultaneously.

Franziska opened the door and slipped into the driver's seat, taking a calming deep breath of cool air as Adrian went to safely stow her traveling bag. _This is ludicrous. You are Franziska von Karma, not some pedantic teenage airhead! It was a smile, just contractions in the muscles of the face. Simple and logical. …why would she smile at me? I should be apologizing to her. It was my fault. That was the foolish smile of a foolishly foolish woman who foolishly listened and foolishly trusted everything… I foolishly told her to do._

When Adrian sat down in the seat to her left, Franziska turned and repeated the statement, her perfect composure returned. "I trust your flight went well, yes?"

"All but that little bit at the end that you saw, yes." Adrian Andrews took off her glasses with one hand, rubbing at her eyes and the bridge of her nose with her other before replacing them and sighing heavily. "It was _long_, though. What time is it here?"

The lawyer prodigy tapped a button on her steering wheel column as she backed the compact car out of its spot, illuminating the dashboard chronometer that displayed, in bright blue letters, '23:18.' Her companion nodded, musing for a brief second, before speaking, "So… that means it's just after two in the afternoon in Los Angeles." She laughed softly to herself. "I guess that means I won't be sleeping easily tonight." Turning to the right, Adrian asked of Franziska, "And your week? How was it? I'm… impressed that you managed this on such short notice."

Franziska spoke slowly but not haltingly, her tone even and measured. "It was typical. Since we last spoke, I've investigated and prosecuted two cases, both murders. Both defendants were found guilty within a day of trial. There is a third case I am prosecuting tomorrow," she paused briefly, "so I too will not be sleeping until very late tonight while I finish building my case."

Adrian was silent for a minute before speaking again, this time in a slightly awed tone of voice. "You're incredible, Franziska. I… I didn't know that you had a case to prepare for tomorrow. You didn't have to come out here to pick me up like that, then."

"Hm. It was nothing, don't worry about it… I'd rather not entrust you to dogs like that cabbie. Competency is rare these days."

"No… it _was_ something." In the flickering glow of the passing road lights, out of the corner of her eye, Franziska saw Adrian smiling at her again. "Thank you."

Minutes passed with the only sounds the hum of the hybrid electric engine and the gentle whir of the wheels beneath them, neither of the two women speaking. At last, Franziska broke the thundering silence with a question. "So, have you any plans for what you'll do here?"

The other woman sounded slightly surprised. "I, uh, guess I assumed you could show me around."

"…I have a court case tomorrow, Ms. Andrews. I'm afraid that's quite impossible, especially if it lasts more than a day—which it won't. I'll be much too busy… however, I suppose I could ask one of the junior officers to show you around Hamburg, you might find something to your liking."

Adrian shifted around in the passenger's seat a few moments before responding, a bit hesitantly, "I… was thinking that maybe I could come watch the trial. See how things are done here in Germany…"

Raising a turquoise eyebrow, Franziska turned slightly to look at her companion, who was staring away from her out the window at the cars they were passing. "It's not much different from the way they're run in the States. And… you can't speak German."

"I know. Still…" Adrian trailed off, and Franziska decided not to press the point any harder.

After another minute or so of silence, the young prosecutor gestured out the window to a nearby building, large and squat with a large sign on top indicating it was a hotel, and not an inexpensive one. "That's the Hamburg Day's End Inn. I've reserved you a room there. I've never stayed there myself but I'm told it's very nice."

It might have been her imagination, but Adrian sounded a bit disappointed. "Oh… a hotel. You didn't have to do that, Franziska."

_I did. I said I would take responsibility for what happened to you… and I will. A von Karma should be true to her word._

"You sound disappointed. What's wrong?" The moment the words escaped her lips, Franziska, for once, regretted their sharpness and directness, but the blonde girl didn't seem to mind at all, staying silent for a little while before responding.

Taking her glasses off to rub at her eyes again, Adrian sighed heavily. "I guess… well, the last time I stayed in a hotel, I was almost convicted of a murder I didn't commit." She chuckled in a faint attempt to make it sound more like a joke, and didn't entirely succeed. "Plus, I… don't know how comfortable I'd feel all by myself in such a large room. I think I'd feel wasteful or… something."

_I inadvertently reminded her of one of the worst times in her life—that I am responsible for. Perfect indeed, Franziska._

"I… understand," said the daughter of Manfred von Karma, nodding her head slightly. "Tomorrow after the trial, I will look for more proper housing for you while you stay here. However, I think that the hotel should be enough for tonight. It is… close to my office, and as I said, I will not be going home tonight. Will that be all right?"

"I think so, yes," replied Adrian, staring out the window. "I think… that would work. Franziska… thank you."

It was now Franziska's turn to shift in slight discomfort, hoping that Adrian didn't notice.

Within several minutes, the two of them had arrived in the parking lot of the lavish hotel, and thanks to the expediting powers of Franziska's whip, convinced the hotel staff to check them in rather quickly. At last, Franziska stood outside her suite room, looking inside one last time to ensure everything was proper and as perfect as it could possibly be. "So… will you need anything else?"

_Say something. You should apologize to her… for everything._

_Now is not the time. _

_When _will_ be the time?_

…_it isn't now. That's all I know. _

Adrian shook her head, "No, I think this should be fine… I should be okay. You're that tall building across the way, right?"

Franziska nodded. "Yes, the eighth floor. If you are in fact serious about attending the trial tomorrow, it begins at ten-thirty in the morning. Tell the security guards that you're there as my personal guest. They _will_ let you in without trouble. If there's anything… you still have that number, right?"

Slipping a very well-creased piece of paper from her pocket, Adrian held it softly against her chest with one hand, smiling at her host, but said nothing.

"Good. Well then… good night, Ms. Andrews."

"You… can call me Adrian, if you'd like."

The 'perfect' daughter of the 'perfect' prosecutor stood in silence for a moment. "Very well. Good night, Adrian."

With that, she closed the door behind her and left Adrian to her own thoughts and memories.

Taking off her sweater, the former manager lay down on the comfortable hotel bed, which was quite a welcome change from four months of rock-hard prison mattresses. Still, she'd grown accustomed to them, and the extravagant softness of this bed made it actually harder to fall asleep—the nine-hour time difference certainly a factor as well.

And so, it was about four in the morning when Adrian Andrews finally decided to take a break from trying to get to sleep and went to the large mural glass window that illuminated the room with the lights of downtown Hamburg in the middle of the night. Across the nearby highway was a tall building that she now knew to be the Department of Public Prosecutors… all the lights were off, making the building look dead and barren.

There was one sole office with the lights on, about halfway up the tower on the eighth floor. Adrian's eyesight wasn't all that great even with her glasses on, but she swore she could make out a tiny figure with pale turquoise hair in the window… but perhaps that was merely her imagination.

Adrian sighed again, a smile on her face. "Franziska… you're really incredible, you know?"

It was time to try to get to sleep again…


	2. Trials

**Follow the Fool**

_Two_

Morning was the best time of day for some people—get up, get going, get things done. Few things provided such an energy boost as being productive while the sun was still just beginning its lazy arc across the sky.

For others, morning was a hellish reminder that the world consisted of more than one's own comfortable bed. The gentle golden fingers of the sun were not particularly welcome as they danced over the rolling countryside of Germany, across the buildings, streets, and people of the city of Hamburg, through the thin beige fabric of a hotel curtain, and directly into the eyes of one Adrian Andrews.

Adrian opened her eyes slowly, blinked twice and started rubbing the bridge of her nose with a slender hand to clear the sleep from her vision. Apparently, she'd successfully fallen asleep last night after all despite the nine-hour difference in time between Los Angeles and Hamburg. It had briefly startled her to wake up in such unfamiliar surroundings after growing accustomed to a small, gray, unchanging cell for four months.

Swinging her bare legs out of the bed to the side, Adrian stifled a yawn with her hand. She didn't know how much sleep she'd gotten, but it certainly didn't feel like much… she was exhausted. The blonde woman peeked through the curtain, shielding her eyes from the sun with her arm, looking at the tall building across the way. She couldn't tell which office was Franziska's now; they all looked the same in the daylight.

The young prosecutor had mentioned a trial today—in an hour and a half, according to the clock on the bedside stand—that she would be prosecuting. Adrian suddenly felt a deep need to look at the ground, filling the warm rush of chagrin suddenly fill her. Franziska hadn't needed to come out to the airport to pick her up. She hadn't needed to pay for her plane ticket or hotel room, either… Adrian knew she was being a burden again. The least she could do would be to go to the trial and support the lawyer in court. She just hoped that Franziska had gotten a bit more sleep than she herself had.

--

Franziska von Karma knew she was fatigued. It was not something she was unaccustomed to, and she'd grown quite adept at dealing with it during her exhaustive study of the law under her demanding father. She knew exactly how much she could take, how long she could push herself, and when she needed to rest. Though it had been hardly the ideal situation, Franziska knew that a prosecutor with a solid case and little sleep was leagues more effective than a prosecutor with a slightly more solid case and no sleep.

So, at just before six in the morning, she had put all of her papers and items away in exactly the right areas, and allowed herself to fall asleep at her desk for two hours. No more, no less—just enough to keep her sharp and focused for the trial.

Still, she was exhausted and she knew it. She refused to let the harsh florescent lights of the Prosecutor's Lobby get to her, though, as she reviewed for what seemed to be the millionth time all the evidence she was going to submit. Another perfectly built case, her third one this week.

There were only ten minutes until the trial, and there was still no sign of Adrian Andrews. Franziska frowned to herself, glancing briefly at the clock above the door to the Prosecutor's Box. Perhaps the American had foolishly gotten herself lost. A hundred awful scenarios instantly flashed through Franziska's mind, though she forcibly shoved them to the side, willing them away. If Adrian did not show up… well, that was then no concern of hers. She was a Prosecutor once she stepped through those doors, and would let nothing dissuade her from her duty.

Though… she did have a responsibility to Adrian as well. Even though she was resolved to do her job as a prosecutor perfectly, it somehow felt wrong to abandon one duty for another, even if the duty abandoned was to a foolishly foolish girl who should really mean nothing to her in the first place.

"This place is so much bigger than the courthouses I've seen in America," came a familiar voice from behind her that momentarily put the young lawyer's doubts to rest. "It's gigantic… how many floors are there?" Franziska turned to see Adrian in her familiar blue halter top, looking around the grand Prosecutor's Lobby in awe. The young prosecutor gave a mental sigh of relief at the other woman's appearance, though she refused to let her composure falter through sheer force of will alone.

"Twenty-three. However, the majority of the floors are used for Police Department work as well as the Prosecutors' Office. If one were to merely take the courts out, it would not be much bigger than those in America." Adrian seemed a bit disappointed, thought the prodigy. "You're later than I thought you'd be."

Adrian looked down, a bashful look on her face. "I-I'm sorry. I couldn't convince the guards to let me in without a proper pass until they brought someone who spoke English. It took a bit longer than I planned on."

The German woman's eyes narrowed in frustration, though not directed at her companion. She'd given the guards strict orders to allow the American woman in the blue shirt into the court… it seemed as though she might need to convey her displeasure at their failure to listen to her, though it could wait until after the trial. "Don't worry about such petty things."

Franziska glanced at the clock again, "You'd better get to the spectators' balcony soon, court is about to begin. I'm… you probably won't understand much of what's being said, you realize?"

Nodding, Adrian adjusted her glasses briefly. "Yes, I do. I… just wanted to see how you did in court. To support you. Just a little way to thank you for everything you've done for me, you know?"

Franziska froze in shock for a fraction of a second—an eternity longer than what she expected of herself—before regaining her perfectly chosen composure. _She still wants to thank me. How foolish of her. Thank me for what?!_ "…anyway, I thought I would summarize the facts for you, so you might understand some of what was going on."

"Two nights ago, at the Hamburg Philharmonic Concert Hall, famous conductor Rudolf Hahn was bludgeoned to death by an assailant. The police apprehended Otto Ostvald—a musician in the orchestra—minutes after the call was made by the chief of security at the Hall."

Adrian nodded, eyes wide behind her glasses. "I see. Why did they think he did it, then? What was their proof?"

"He was captured on film at the scene of the murder at the time it took place by a surveillance camera, and the murder weapon is…" Franziska paused, choosing her words carefully, "rather _uniquely_ connected to Ostvald. There's other evidence as well, but I don't have the time to waste explaining them outside of court."

The blue-shirted woman looked puzzled, raising a slender blonde eyebrow in curiosity. "So… what was the weapon?"

With a scowl that suggested that even she couldn't deny the absolute ridiculousness in what she was saying, Franziska admitted, "A tuba. _His_ tuba, as a matter of fact. Anyway, the evidence is solid. I will prove Otto Ostvald guilty of the murder of Rudolf Hahn."

There was suddenly a loud laugh from behind her, a beaming, rich chuckle that echoed through the high-arched Prosecutor's Lobby. "Is that a fact, my little pumpernickel? Well, you'll have to get through my iron defense, first!" exclaimed a jovial, deep voice that sparkled with barely restrained mirth.

"Oh!" Startled, Adrian spun around to see a rather colorful figure behind the two women. It was a tall man, certainly not slender but not quite muscularly built either. His hair was a light golden blond that would have probably reached down to far below his shoulders if he hadn't tied it back in a ponytail, and a matching, neatly-trimmed blond beard that hugged the sharp line of his jaw before building into a neatly trimmed goatee on the chin. The man's eyes were a pale crystal blue, glimmering and sparkling with laughter that reflected the beaming white grin on his face with skin that bore just the slightest hint of a suntan.

His clothing was certainly noteworthy too. He wore a simple striped gray vest, true, but the shirt beneath was ruffled and frilled all the way up the middle to the top, peaking in a dark scarlet cravat around his neck. Adrian briefly wondered if there were a store for only attorneys to purchase clothing. Above his shirt and vest he wore a black military-cut jacket that glimmered along the shoulders with golden fringe and embroidery. There were five or six medals pinned to the coat's right breast, and Adrian could have sworn one of them said, in English, "Kiss the Cook." The most striking feature of his outfit, though, was the long cape that he wore clasped to the shoulders of his jacket—a dark blue, almost black on the outside, but a brilliant crimson on the inside—that he swirled around him as he spoke.

_CRACK!_

Franziska's whip was suddenly in her hands, biting out at the ground beneath the strangely flamboyant man's feet, causing him to jump back about a meter or so—but unlike most who faced her lash, he chuckled warmly as if it were just a game. From the look on her face, though, it was evident that Franziska didn't agree. "Call me 'pumpernickel' again, Gunther Hertz, and I will ensure that you regret ever seeing a piece of bread in your entire life."

Gunther laughed, flipping his long ponytail back over his shoulder. "Nothing about regretting meeting you, then, Franziska von Karma?"

The prosecutor smirked, not letting her whip fall slack yet. "I would have thought the forty-one consecutive losses in court against me would have done that, Hertz."

The taller man held his hands up against his chest, miming the act of being struck with a fatal blow in a completely exaggerated manner. "Oh… oh, how you wound me, Miss von Karma. Touché… touché indeed." Straightening up, the male attorney held a hand out in front of his face, wagging his index finger back and forth. "However! Today shall not make forty-two! My client is innocent, Miss von Karma…" he smirked, and suddenly there was a much more serious glint in his eyes, "and make no mistake, I _will_ prove it."

Meanwhile, Adrian had been standing off to the side, a rather bemused expression on her face, and it seemed like she was suppressing a laugh. "Franziska, who… is this man?" she asked at last, having not understood any of the prior conversation due to the language barrier.

Before the blue-haired lawyer could respond, the colorful man had swiftly crossed the distance to the young American woman in just a few long strides, taken her hand in his, and bowed deeply, pressing his lips to the back of her wrist once before straightening up again, throwing his cape and ponytail over his shoulder in the same movement. "Ah, and by your voice I can tell you are an American!" he said in flawless—if rather accented—English. "And what a lovely little lady you are… might you be the rose to that little one's thorns? It certainly must be so!" He laughed. "I am Gunther Hertz… Ace Attorney, at your service. Madam von Karma says that she will find my client guilty? She is mistaken! For I… will find _her_ guilty!"

There was silence in the room as Gunther paused, his brow furrowed as he mulled over what he'd just said… and then spoke, with just as much gusto as before, pointing his finger dramatically at nothing in particular, "No! Franziska von Karma is not guilty! _Somebody_ is guilty! …and it is not my client. I beg your pardon, oh sweet chocolate turtledove, but English is not my first language."

_CRACK!_

"I have had enough of your tomfoolery, Hertz!" snarled Franziska, pulling her whip taut above her head. "The trial is about to start! Put your reputation on the line in the court, and I will defeat you there!"

Gunther Hertz bowed to the both of them, winking and blowing a kiss to Adrian, before slowly backing away out the nearby door. "If you insist, my beloved little prosecutor. I will see you shortly on our familiar field of battle…" He smirked again, "And I promise you that I will _not_ lose this time."

With that, the door closed behind him with a bang, and the room suddenly felt rather empty.

Franziska sighed, curling up her whip at her side. "He is a foolishly laughing fool who foolishly believes that every one of his foolishly foolish actions will endear him to the hearts of fools. He can be rather intense to those who have never met him before." She looked at Adrian, who was still standing in silent shock, hand pressed to her breastbone. "Are you all right?" Her tone was softer for a moment.

"…I'm fine," answered the blonde American at last, suddenly bursting out into a peal of soft laughter that she clearly tried to suppress… but failed. "He was…. He was…certainly interesting," she said in between laughs. "I'm really not… quite sure what to say about him, really. Certainly a rather… forceful personality."

If Franziska had considered herself an outwardly sentimental person, she might have smiled at the other woman's laughter, for it was certainly a new emotion of Adrian's. However, such things were… not what she sought in herself. Franziska looked once more at the clock, noting the time. "He's a fool and nothing more. You should go to the spectator's gallery now… court is about to begin."

--

The judge's gavel echoed through the courtroom as it smashed down upon the sounding block. The Judge was a tall, dark-skinned man with neatly trimmed black hair, though one couldn't really get a good sense of his height as much of it was covered behind his podium. Franziska was pleased that he was at least slightly more on the ball than the American one she'd argued cases in front of. Competence really was refreshing.

"This begins the trial of State v. Otto Ostvald," said the judicator in a dark, rich voice. "Are the counselors ready?"

Franziska nodded, feeling the familiarity of the courtroom wash over her—the sounds, the smells, the sights, the way the hard wood desk in front of her felt beneath her gloved hands... she was almost comfortable here. In some strange way, it almost felt more like home than her home did. She nodded her head in response, "The prosecution is always ready, Your Honor."

Opposing her, Gunther Hertz beamed a wide, brilliant grin, flipping his ponytail back over his shoulder and spreading his arms wide in a gesture that made it look like he was about to give the judge a gigantic bear hug. "The defense is far more ready than the prosecution could ever know, Your Honor." He chuckled jovially to himself before smirking across the way at the younger attorney.

Her eyes slitted in response. _I have no time for fools such as him. This trial will be over within minutes._

"Very well then. The prosecution may present its case."

Franziska stood up as tall as she could, speaking her carefully-rehearsed opening statement. The tone of a trial could often be decided as early as the initial statement, as she well knew. "Your Honor, the case against Otto Ostvald is quite a simple one." Her court record, listing the names and descriptions of all the relevant people and pieces of evidence, lay on the desk in front of her, but she never had to even glance at it.

"At just before 22:30 on the night of July 21st, famed conductor Rudolf Hahn was murdered in Rehearsal Room #3 of the Hamburg Philharmonic Concert Hall," Hahn's face gazed up at her from the photograph in the court record. He was an elderly man, in his late 60s, with wavy, shoulder-length gray hair topped by a bald crown. "The autopsy report prepared by the Coroner's Office—submitted as Evidence A to this court—states that he died from being hit on the head with a heavy blunt object. Death was nearly instantaneous after that single blow, though bruises on the body do indicate that he was beaten severely, likely before the killing blow. The approximate time of death was 22:27."

The Judge nodded. "I understand. And the murder weapon was?"

Someone looking closely enough could see Franziska's face flush slightly in embarrassment, for she knew that it was truly a ridiculous fact—but it was a fact, and it was quite relevant to the case. "The murder weapon was a B-flat tuba that was used by a certain member of the orchestra. The state of the body indicates that the conductor was likely lying prone, either unconscious or close to it, when the murderer brought the full weight of the instrument down on his forehead. The murder weapon has been submitted as Evidence B."

Leaning forward and wagging a black-gloved finger at Gunther across the way, Franziska smirked. "Otto Ostvald was apprehended by the police at the scene of the crime. Other members of the orchestra and staff have attested to the fact that Ostvald's relationship with Rudolf Hahn was… _strained _at best. Ostvald and Hahn frequently got into loud arguments with one another over the performance of the orchestra, and witnesses say that some of these confrontations almost turned violent. Hahn's own records indicate that he was unhappy with Ostvald's performance as a musician and was going to remove him from the orchestra if he could not play to satisfaction in a final private audition—which was to be held the night of the murder."

"There was nobody else in the building other than the head of security. Hahn must have told Ostvald that he was being removed from the Philharmonic, and Ostvald attacked him in a fit of rage before murdering him with the instrument." Franziska spread her arms wide and bent her legs slightly in a curtsey. "Absolutely elementary, Your Honor."

Staying silent for a moment in thought, the Judge finally spoke with a nod. "I see. That certainly is damning evidence against him. Does the defense have anything to say?"

Gunther was… smiling? The daughter of Manfred von Karma frowned, in puzzlement more than any real worry. _Doesn't that fool know when he's beaten?_

"Your Honor!" said the defense attorney, tossing his cape over his shoulder with a grand flourishing motion. "Otto Ostvald… _is an innocent man!_ " He slammed a hand down on the desk in front of him to punctuate the statement. "The lovely Prosecutor von Karma has made her case, but she has, thus far, failed to deliver any proof. Proof that she does _not_ have! It does not exist! There is none!" He shook his head, before fixing Franziska with a brilliantly broad grin. "Let her try and prove her case, Your Honor, because nothing in the whole wide world of sandwiches could make Otto Ostvald guilty of this crime!"

The Judge blinked several times before speaking rather hesitantly, "Mr. Hertz… you do realize that you didn't really say anything just then other than variations of "My client is innocent," correct? Ms. Von Karma has shown evidence supporting her claims… do you have anything other than just boisterous yelling?"

Crossing his arms in front of his chest, Gunther chuckled to himself, his shoulders bouncing with every laugh. "Though I am _very_ good at boisterous yelling, Your Honor… well, I was merely waiting for the Prosecutor to dig her own grave. But, if you insist…" His cape billowed dramatically as he thrust a finger out at Franziska. "Prosecutor von Karma's opening statement itself has a contradiction!"

_CRACK!_

"Foolishly foolish fool blabbering foolishly foolish nonsense and foolishly wasting this court's time!" snarled Franziska, pulling her whip tight over her head. "My case is perfect, Hertz. Show us what you're babbling about, or stop wasting time stalling and accept your loss like something resembling a man!"

The blond defense attorney laughed again, though he was rubbing his hand gingerly where her lash had stung while he did so. "I would like to submit the following as Evidence C, Your Honor," and the image of a sheet of paper appeared on the little screen inlaid on the desk to Franziska's side. The young prosecutor looked at it with a frown—this was new evidence. Why hadn't she seen it before? It looked like…

"A schedule?" asked the Judge, running a hand through his graying hair. "What exactly is the significance of this, Mr. Hertz?"

"You can see, Your Honor, Miss Prosecutor," he winked at Franziska across the courtroom, "This is Rudolf Hahn's schedule for the night in question. Rehearsal of the whole orchestra ended at 21:00… but there is nothing else scheduled until the meeting with Otto Ostvald…" he extended his right hand and bowed theatrically, "at 22:50. Miss von Karma, what time did you say the murder took place, again?" Without waiting for her to answer, Gunther slammed a hand down on his desk. "Exactly! There is a _twenty minute gap_ between the time of the murder and the time Ostvald was supposed to meet with the conductor! Ergo… anybody could have murdered him with the tuba in that time frame!"

"**Objection! **" The crack of the whip against the wood of the desk echoed through the courtroom. Franziska rested her chin in her left hand, expertly coiling the whip with her other, placing it at her side and giving a dismissive wave. "You're just grasping at straws, Hertz. There are no other scheduled appointments between the end of rehearsal and Ostvald and Hahn's meetings, correct? Knowing that Hahn had free time, isn't it possible that the defendant decided to come early? Your needling over foolish semantics wastes my time and the time of this court! Besides… nobody but Ostvald could have murdered the victim with the weapon in question!"

The Judge looked surprised. "Really, Prosecutor von Karma? Why is that?"

"Yes! _Why is that_? " Gunther Hertz spread his arms apart in a dismissive gesture. "Are you about to tell us, Miss von Karma, that this was a _magic tuba_ that could surely only be used by Otto Ostvald? Because if you are, I'm afraid that you will be disappointed to know that," he slammed a hand down on the desk. "_There is no such thing as a magic tuba!_"

_Does… does he hear himself speak?_ "What are you talking about, you fool? The tuba used in the murder was the very tuba owned by Otto Ostvald himself. _That_ is why only he could have used it."

With a rich, deep laugh, the defense attorney shook his head from side to side, his long ponytail flying swiftly through the air with every shake. "This is a trial for murder, my vermillion honeydew. Surely you're not suggesting that a murderer would be afraid to do something as relatively trivial as steal a tuba, right? Because that would be… _foolish._ " As he said that, he tossed another smirk across the room at Franziska, and the young woman recognized something different in his expression. Though his grin was wide and beaming, his eyes were hard and serious.

_He knows what I'm going to say… which is what I should expect of him. He's better than this… what's he playing at? What's his game?_ Franziska's eyes slitted as she sized up her opponent, watching his body language, his mannerisms—none of which suggested he was anything more than the buffoon he was acting like. _What is he trying to get at…?_

"Your Honor," she said at last, "All of the musicians' concert instruments as well as their concert dress are locked away in their own personal lockers after every performance. Each musician has the key to his own compartment, and no other. As Ostvald's locker was not forced open in any way, the only person who could have obtained the murder weapon—and killed the victim with it—is Ostvald himself." Franziska crossed her arms in front of her chest, idly drumming the fingers of her left hand on her right arm as she did so. "Is that proof enough for you, Mr. Hertz?"

It didn't look like Gunther Hertz was shocked or dismayed by that piece of news, though—on the contrary, Franziska could have sworn his ridiculous smile grew even bigger. Gunther held his hands up in front of his face, lightly tapping his fingers against the heel of his other palm in a mocking golf-style clap. "If it as you say, Miss von Karma—"

The young woman interjected, her expression darkening as she suddenly got the feeling she'd begun to walk right into a trap, "Of course it is, you fool."

"Well then. What if Otto Ostvald lost or misplaced his key? Wouldn't it be possible for someone, then, to take his key and use it to steal his instrument from the locker to use in the crime? Can you discount that possibility, little one?" Gunther chuckled, idly stroking his blond goatee with his left hand.

"Impossible," Franziska shook her head emphatically, the uncertainty in her mind growing ever stronger. _He's saying all the things I want him to say, practically building my case for me! Not even _he_ could be this inept! What is this game he's playing at!?_ "When he was arrested at the scene of the crime, Ostvald had his keys on him. They had not been lost or stolen!" She struck her desk with her whip, letting its crack punctuate her sentence. "Otto Ostvald is the _only_ person who could have killed Rudolf Hahn with the instrument!"

"**OBJECTION! **" Gunther tossed his cape back with a dramatic flourish before slamming both hands down on the desk in front of him forcefully. "He could have found it again! Or he could have made a copy as a backup! That means nothing!" The blond man's hand sliced through the air, pointing directly at the younger attorney. "Prosecutor von Karma, you have only shown us that Otto Ostvald _could_ have murdered the victim that night, nothing more!"

Giving a dramatically overexaggerated shrug, the defense attorney spread his arms wide as if taunting her to hit him. "You have failed to prove the most important thing, Prosecutor! Can you show us any proof that Otto was in, or anywhere _near_ Rehearsal Room #3 at the time of the murder?" He turned his head, the long ponytail whipping behind him, and stared directly at the Judge, who blinked in surprise. "I could say that Your Honor was there at the time of the murder, or that _you_ were there, Prosecutor von Karma, and it would be as much evidence as anything you've said up until now!"

The Judge began to say something, though Gunther was apparently not finished making his point, cutting the judicator off before he could even get a word out.

"I could even accuse a member of the audience of the same thing! I claim that that young woman was at the Hamburg Philharmonic that night, and _she_ is the real murderer!" Gunther jabbed an accusing finger into the air to the stands behind Franziska—she turned to look, and sure enough, the other lawyer was pointing directly at Adrian Andrews, who was sitting up completely startled, one hand pressed to her breastbone, eyes wide open in confusion. "You there, in the stands!" roared Gunther Hertz, switching to English. "You're the real killer, aren't you! Admit—"

_CRACK!_

Hertz stumbled back as he took the full force of Franziska's whip directly in the chest. He began to regain his balance, looking up at the younger lawyer in what seemed to be surprise.

_CRACK! CRACK!_

Her lash struck out twice more, catching him squarely both times, causing the lawyer to fall heavily against the wooden wall of the courtroom behind him, clearly struggling to stay on his feet.

Franziska held her whip above her head, stretching it as tight as she could, her cheeks flushed in absolute fury. _You have no idea what that woman has been through, Hertz. I will _not_ let it happen again, even in jest. If this is your idea of a joke, I can assure you that you will _not_ be laughing for long._ **"THAT IS ENOUGH! "** shouted the prodigy, an icy rage in her dark eyes. "You will _not_ make a mockery out of this court the way you make a mockery out of yourself, Gunther Hertz!"

"You want proof?! Here is my proof!" A black-and-white photograph appeared on the displays around the courtroom. In it, a short, rotund, friendly-looking man was slumped in a chair next to what one would guess was a tuba case on the ground. He was in a nice-looking tuxedo, though it appeared wrinkled and a bit messy on him. The man was resting a hand on his forehead in apparent despair, though enough of his face was visible to make it clear that he was, in fact, the defendant, Otto Ostvald. There was a small yet readable sign on the wall nearby the figure that read, 'Rehearsal Room #3,' and digital numbers in the top left corner of the photograph said plainly: '7-21-18, 22:34.'

Franziska lowered the whip from its striking position, but kept it in her hands, tugging it taut once more, her cheeks still flushed in anger. "July 21st, seven minutes after the murder, in the very room it occurred in. Ostvald is wearing his concert dress tuxedo in this picture—and blood was found on the soles of his dress shoes, which has been identified as the victim's blood."

Her gaze cold and piercing, Franziska looked directly at the Judge. "He had motive, he was the only one who could have accessed his weapon, this photograph places him at the scene of the crime minutes after the murder, and there is forensic evidence linking him to the body. This case could not be more clear, Your Honor. I demand a verdict."

The Judge blinked, processing all the information, running a hand through his short black hair absentmindedly. "It does seem awfully clear-cut, I admit. Very well, I think I can render a verdict in this trial."

"**Ob… Objection! **" Gunther Hertz coughed loudly, leaning heavily on the desk in front of him as he climbed to his feet. He stood up straight, coughing once more, then brushing the dust off his vest and jacket vainly as if he hadn't been whipped fiercely three times not moments before. Gunther tossed a grin at Franziska, "Kittens can certainly scratch… Your Honor," he said, turning to face the judge. "Surely you must find something unusual about this photograph, correct?"

"Er…" the Judge paused, taking a closer look at the image for a few long seconds. "No, I can't say I see anything unusual at all, Mr. Hertz. What exactly are you getting at?"

Gunther jabbed a finger down at the image on the display in front of him. "He's wearing his tuxedo, Your Honor. Now, the Philharmonic does not dress up to rehearse, only to perform! There were _no_ performances that night, and there had not been any for over a week! So then, I ask the court—why would Otto Ostvald be dressed up? People dress up to go to the theater, or to attend a ball, or to catch a cabaret, Your Honor," he slammed a hand down on his desk again, "people do _not_ dress up to go commit murder!"

The attorney stroked his beard absentmindedly as he continues to speak. "The room in this picture is clearly Rehearsal Room #3, of course—where the murder took place. However, if this is the scene of the crime, seven minutes after it took place… _where is the body?!_ "

Taken aback by the attorney's questions, the Judge nodded slowly, "I… I believe you make some excellent points, Mr. Hertz. That is strange indeed. Prosecutor von Karma, have you any answers?"

As her anger at Hertz's satiric accusation of Adrian faded, Franziska quickly found it replaced by a cold lump of doubt. She'd thought her case had been perfect, but Gunther was doing a remarkable job at poking holes in it. The prodigy thought she knew where he was heading, but knew that she couldn't really do anything about it. _Not if I want to see justice done_. All she could do was continue with her case… "Not personally, Your Honor, though I have a witness prepared who may have the information this court seeks."

"The prosecution would like to call Officer Hans Ernst to the stand."

In a scant few minutes, the powerfully built, ruddy-faced young policeman had been brought to the witness stand and sworn in. Franziska wasted no time getting to the point with her witness. "Officer Ernst, you were the one who apprehended the criminal at the scene of the crime that night, correct?"

Hans Ernst nodded, looking a bit uncomfortable on the stand—he was already beginning to sweat slightly. "Y-yes, ma'am. My partner and I were on patrol in the area, and so we were the nearest to the Concert Hall when the dispatch for a reported murder came in."

"Understood. Describe to the court the scene as you found it, patrolman." The blue-haired young woman gave a slight yet noticeable tug on her lash to emphasize her words, "Leave _nothing_ out."

The young officer shifted nervously, stammering a few times before actually getting coherent words out. "My partner and I arrived on the scene as quickly as we could. I remember the time exactly—22:35. The defendant was in Rehearsal Room #3 when we arrived there, and he seemed to be pacing anxiously. He seemed to be dazed or out of it somehow, because he didn't seem to care that the room was a complete mess… there were music stands and chairs all over the place. At first glance, we just thought that the musicians were slobs, until we saw the body slumped over in the corner of the room. We didn't notice the victim right away because it was hidden from view by a large filing cabinet."

Franziska nodded slowly, in thought. Hardly the perfect testimony… then again, her case was rapidly shaping up to be anything _but_ perfect. She cursed herself silently—how could she have been so sloppy? If her father had been around, he would have certainly beaten her senseless for such a flawed case, a case which he would have never been caught dead presenting!

_I am not my father._

"You see, Your Honor? The body was hidden from view behind a file cabinet. That is why there is no body visible in this photograph—absolutely simple." The words sounded hollow even in her own ears, and she saw Gunther Hertz throw her a slight nod and a smirk from across the way. _Almost a salute… he knows that I know what he knows._

Gunther chuckled softly. "The Prosecutor is indeed correct, and that testimony clears up that discrepancy in the photograph. However… it certainly brings up a whole slew more!" He held his finger up in front of his face, wagging it back and forth. "I would like to begin my cross-examination of the witness now, Your Honor." The Judge nodded an assent, and the tall attorney-at-law turned to face the police officer, throwing his cape over his shoulder with an impressive flourish. "Officer Ernst… when you found the defendant at the scene of the crime, did he try to run from you or resist arrest?"

Hans scratched his hair in thought before shaking his head in a negative, "No, sir. He actually seemed… _glad_ to see us, and started saying something about a stolen tuba, how it was missing—until we handcuffed him, of course. In fact, he was acting like he didn't even know there'd been a murder—he seemed to be shocked when we pointed out the body to him. That did seem strange at the time…"

The blond attorney grinned. "I see, I see. And, if you remember, what was the defendant wearing at the time?"

"**Objection! **" Franziska shook her head, looking up at the Judge. "Your Honor, this photograph clearly shows the defendant in concert dress. This question is redundant and irrelevant."

"_Non non non, mon petite chere,_" Gunther crossed his arms in front of his chest, chuckling to himself. "I think you'll find that this question is, in fact, _very_ relevant."

The Judge nodded. "I'll allow it. Objection overruled. You may answer Mr. Hertz's question, Officer." Franziska gritted her teeth, feeling a bead of sweat start to form up by her temple… she knew exactly where Gunther was going to take this, and yet she couldn't help but go along—unless she wanted to delude herself into thinking that the truth was what she said it was, like she would have done half a year before.

"Uh… well… he was wearing a rumpled-looking olive green shirt and tan slacks that I remember had some sort of weird stain on them. Pretty ugly outfit, if you ask me…"

"You would remember if the defendant was dressed in a fancy tuxedo, correct?" Without waiting for Hans to answer, Gunther gestured once more to the image of Otto Ostvald in the murder room. "This image was taken at 22:34, according to the time stamp. Yet Officer Ernst has just testified that, just _one minute later_, Otto Ostvald was wearing completely different clothing! While it is true that the defendant's dress clothes and instrument—the murder weapon—were found in his locker, one minute is surely not enough time to change clothes so completely!" The flashy lawyer pounded both hands onto the desk. "This is a blatant contradiction, Your Honor!"

_CRACK!_

Officer Ernst yelped, trying to jump back as far as he could as Franziska's whip snapped right in front of his ruddy face. "This court does not have time to waste dealing with the foolish words of forgetful fools, Officer! You are obviously incorrect about the time—so I advise you to amend your statement, and do it quickly before you waste any more of our time!"

The patrolman was sweating now, trembling in fear. "B-but… I'm positive…! I have an atomic-clock watch, and I remember clearly! W-we got there at exactly 22:35…! I'm sure of it!"

_CRACK!_

"And yet, your memories seem to go against this photographic evidence we see right in front of us! You _are under oath_, Officer!"

"**Objection! **" Gunther Hertz flipped his ponytail over his shoulder and then flashed a pearly-white grin at the entire courtroom. "Why would an officer in our distinguished Police Department have any reason to lie under oath, Miss Prosecutor? His testimony contradicts this photo in more ways than just that, as well! Why would Otto Ostvald be searching for a tuba if one was right on the floor next to him? The officer just testified that the room was a complete mess due to a fight—but in this picture, it appears perfectly normal!" He jabbed a dramatic finger out, pointing directly at poor Hans Ernst, who flinched reflexively. "What the officer has described and what is shown in this picture are two _completely different scenes_! If Officer Ernst is correct…" the tall lawyer tossed his cape behind him before pounding both hands onto the desk—sending a resounding echo through the courtroom, and all but shouted, "Then _the photo_ must be incorrect!"

Franziska flinched, biting her lower lip, reflexively clutching at her right shoulder, feeling the wound left by the bullet months ago start to ache all over again. "B…but… that's preposterous! **O-objection! ** How can a photo be incorrect?! That doesn't make any sense!"

Her opponent spread his arms wide in a theatrical gesture, giving an overly-dramatic shrug. "I don't know!" He grinned, winking at her, "So why don't you tell me! Your Honor, the defense has finished cross-examining this witness… and demands to hear more testimony!"

"M-my word! This has certainly gotten interesting!" a wide-eyed Judge exclaimed, running a hand through his hair. "Yes, I think this certainly calls for more testimony… Prosecutor von Karma, do you have any other witnesses?"

Though she could feel the tiny droplets of sweat starting to trickle down her face, Franziska refused to acknowledge them outwardly, trying as best as she could to maintain the composure that was practically synonymous with the name "von Karma." Her efforts weren't entirely successful. "Y-yes, Your Honor," she said at last, keeping her voice relatively steady through sheer will alone. "We have one other witness… the man who reported the crime to the police."

Gritting her teeth, Franziska fixed Gunther Hertz with a glare that contrasted sharply with his jovial, cocky grin. "You haven't proven your client innocent yet, Hertz. You've merely shown that this case is stranger than we thought at first. That's it, nothing more. This next witness will seal this case once and for all!"

It might have just been her imagination, but Franziska could have sworn that Gunther mouthed, just soft enough for her alone to hear, "Oh, indeed it will…" but that was ludicrous, wasn't it?

"The… the prosecution calls Ludwig Wagner to the stand!"

By the time the next witness—a pale, thin, almost skeletal-looking man who appeared to be approaching seventy years of age, with a thick head of unkempt white hair—got to the stand and was sworn in, Franziska had regained some measure of acceptable self-composure. "Witness, state your name and occupation for the court."

The witness smiled, a kindly-old-man smile. "Why of course, young lady… my name is Ludwig Wagner, and I've been the head of security at the Hamburg Philharmonic Concert Hall for, oh, about thirty-five years now!" He chuckled. "We just installed a brand-new high-tech system about a year ago that makes my job pretty easy, though! Used to carry around a whole big ring of keys, but now I just got the one master key—unlocks everything in the building! It's all done by computers and fancy electronics! Ah, don't let my age fool you—I'm reaaaalll good with computers, missy! I wrote a bunch of the programs myself!"

Franziska frowned. "How fascinating. There is no place for small talk in court, witness. You would do well to remember that." Her eyes narrowed, and she gave her leather lash a tug. "Do _not_ call me 'Missy,' you will not be warned again."

"Uh… oh! Okay then!" said the older man, scratching his head and smiling bashfully. "Will do!"

Looking briefly up at the Judge, Franziska turned her attention back to the new witness. "There was a point of confusion earlier in the trial where the accuracy of this photo—taken by your own security camera—was called into question. As the chief of security, would you say that the camera could have been mistaken?"

His laugh sounded more like a wheeze or a cough than anything else, but he was clearly amused by the question. "Now what sorta question is that, miss—Miss Prosecutor? The camera is the camera! It can't lie, it just takes pictures!"

With a nod, the legal prodigy motioned for the old man to continue talking. "Very well then. You were the one who called the police that night, correct? Testify as to what you saw."

Wagner nodded, scratching his head again and nodding. "Ah, yepyep, that was me. I was the one who called in the report. Terrible thing, of course. Oh, what a shame, he was a brilliant conduc—"

The echoing crack of a whip striking a hard wood desk cut through the courtroom, accompanied by a piercing glare from the young prodigy. "Witness! _Get to the point!_ "

The old man glowered at the young lawyer, shaking his head. "I'm gettin' there, young lady! Hold yer horses! No respect for their elders, these kids…" he mumbled before straightening up as best as he could. "It must have been just around 22:25, I was doin' my nightly rounds like I always do, y'know? And I was walkin' past Rehearsal Room #3 when I hear the sounds of a mighty loud fight! So… I goes in to see what's the matter, and I find poor Rudolf, lying there, dead! Such a tragedy, I tell ya!"

Nodding, the Judge motioned to the defense attorney. "Mr. Hertz, you may cross-examine the witness."

Gunther grinned, cracking his knuckles as if he were about to engage in a brawl rather than a procedure of court. "Mr. Ludwig Wagner, yes?" He laughed, a deep, rich sound. "Such a fitting name for a man who works at a house of music. I don't suppose you've ever tried your hand at composing?"

Before Franziska could object to the question as irrelevant, the old man snapped out, shaking an angry fist, "Of course I have! I'm a brilliant composer! I've been composing for as long as I've been at the Concert Hall!" He mumbled something under his breath that was probably just gibberish. "…but that's none of your business, sonny!" Wagner crossed his arms in a huff, and Franziska thought she saw that eternal grin on Gunther Hertz's face grow just a tiny bit wider.

"Of course, of course," the defense attorney waved a hand through the air, "Let us think nothing of it! Anyway… I would like you to elaborate more on what happened when you entered the scene of the crime. Did you see the witness there?"

The old man thought for a moment before shaking his head. "A-nope. He musta fled the scene through the back entrance just before I got there, right after killin' poor ol' Rudy. So no, I didn't see 'im."

Cocking a well-trimmed blond eyebrow, Gunther gently stroked his goatee as he spoke. "That's very good to know, Mr. Wagner. How, then, did you know that Otto Ostvald had committed the crime?"

"Ain't that obvious, sonny?! There were only three people there in the buildin' that night—me, the conductor, and Otto! I watched 'em all leave and ya can't get back in once yer out unless I let you! Plus, everyone knew that the conductor and Otto hated each others' guts! If that weren't enough, there's the picture that the security camera took showin' the wretch right at the scene of the crime!"

Holding his hand up in front of his face as if inspecting his nails, Gunther started to speak very casually, but Franziska knew that tone of voice—the tone of someone lulling a witness into a false sense of security. "Really, now. I'm glad you brought this photo up…" he smirked. "You just testified that the defendant left the scene of the crime before you got there… but this picture clearly shows him in the room at 22:34! Why would he return to the room and act in such a casual manner—just a single minute before the police arrived?!"

The old security guard looked shocked—literally, like he'd just been struck by a bolt of lightning. "W-what? O-oh, that picture! Oh, that's just because… that's because that there timestamp is wrong, y'see? Heh, the stupid clock's runnin' six minutes fast, so that picture was really taken at 22:28—right after the murder!" Ludwig Wagner scratched his head, smiling sheepishly. "One o' these days, I'm gonna have to get into the system and change the time of the clock so that it's right—not that I ever want somethin' like this to ever happen again, of course!"

Gunther's ever-present grin grew wider, and Franziska felt a cold chill run through her veins. She knew exactly where he was going with this, and worse yet, she agreed. Though it stung her pride fiercely to even think of conceding, Franziska knew that it was only a matter of time before the hunter caught his prey.

"I'd like you to look at this photograph again, Mr. Wagner. You just testified that you heard the sounds of a loud struggle, and Officer Ernst said that the Rehearsal Room was a complete mess! So, if this picture was taken so soon after the murder… why does the room look so tidy and normal? Could you explain that for us, maybe?"

"O-oh, right! Well… uh… oh, yeah, that's right! I did see Otto after all!" he scratched his head a bit harder now, and Franziska could see him starting to sweat. "The thing was, Otto and Rudy's fight didn't mess up the room much, and Otto started to clean it up to make it look normal again, so maybe nobody would think that there'd been a murder or nothin'!"

A blond eyebrow arched. "Except for the dead body, of course."

The old man nodded emphatically. "Oh, youbetcha! That was exactly it! And that was when the camera took the picture, so that's why it looks so normal! Of course, right after the picture was taken, I surprised ol' Otto with my presence, so he got spooked and ran out of the room—and he knocked all those stands and chairs over while he ran, which is why it looked so messy when the nice officer got there later! I tried to chase him, but, well, curse these old bones!" Ludwig Wagner laughed, though there was a definite nervous tinge to his laugh this time around.

Idly playing with the bottom of his golden ponytail, Gunther asked—almost casually—"So, you never actually went into the Rehearsal Room?"

Wagner shook his head. "Nope! Not until after the police got there, that is!"

"Officer Ernst testified that the dispatch was specifically for a murder, though… how did you know it was a murder if you didn't see the body?"

The old man jumped visibly. "Eek! Er… ah… oh, that's a good question… huh… well, uh, sonny… I saw it! When I looked in and saw that scoundrel Otto, I saw poor ol' Rudy lying there on the ground, stone cold! That's how I knew it was a murder, I saw the body lying out there in plain sight!"

Gunther gave one last grin, a predator's grin, and Franziska clutched the old wound in her shoulder as it began to ache. It was almost over.

"That makes sense, Mr. Wagner. So… the dear Prosecutor earlier mentioned that one of the pieces of evidence against Otto Ostvald was his dress shoe… the sole of which was covered in considerable amounts of the victim's blood. Are you telling me that you couldn't follow the trail of bloody footprints that would almost certainly have been left behind? A trail of bloody footprints, I may add, that were _never reported by any of the police on the case?!_ "

His hands slammed down on his desk once more, this time almost lazily, as if they knew they didn't have to be in any particular hurry. "You cannot answer this question, Mr. Wagner… because you made the whole thing up." He flashed one final pearly-white grin, flipping his ponytail back over his shoulder. "We heard you just say two _very important_ things here in court. The first! You admitted to having a master key that unlocks every single lock in the building—including the personal lockers of the musicians! And secondly, you said that you could go into the computer system and _change the time of a photo_."

The attorney's finger stabbed through the air in an accusatory motion, pointed right at the trembling security guard. "You used a picture of Otto Ostvald from some other night and changed the date so it would be the time of the murder, didn't you?! You also took his shoes and covered them with Rudolf Hahn's blood in order to build a more solid case against him… to throw suspicion off the real murderer!"

"Mr. Ludwig Wagner! You just said that there were only three people in the building that night! One of them was the victim, one of them was framed, and one of them was the _real murderer!_ Since Hans Ernst testified that the body was hidden out of the way, the only way you could have known the crime was a murder was if you'd entered the room to see… or if you'd committed the crime yourself!" His hands pounded down on the desk in front of him. "Ludwig Wagner, you are the real killer, and you tried to pin it on Otto Ostvald… but you didn't count on the brilliance of Gunther Hertz, Ace Attorney!"

**SLAM! SLAM! SLAM! **

"Order! I will have order in this courtroom!" bellowed the judge, slamming his gavel as hard as he could. The court fell silent… except for Ludwig Wagner, who was gasping for air and panting loudly.

Wagner shook an angry fist at Gunther, slamming it down angrily on the witness stand, spraying spittle everywhere as he spoke. "Thirty-five years! Thirty-five years, I gave that damn Rudolf all of my compositions, that I poured my soul and life into, each and every one! And not only did he never play any of them… he never _acknowledged_ them…! NEVER! He never gave me tips on how to improve, never even said a word to me about them. For thirty-five years, he ignored everything I poured my sweat, blood, and tears into… he had it coming! This was vindication! YES, VINDICATION! Vindication thirty-five years… long overdue!" He was practically foaming at the mouth, now…

…and with a little noise in the back of his throat, Ludwig Wagner sunk to the ground, unconscious.

--

Eight hours later, an exhausted Franziska von Karma walked out of the room where the post-trial meeting had been held. The police had arrested Ludwig Wagner for the murder of Rudolf Hahn, and for eight exhaustive hours, the two lawyers, the police department, and several members of the press had gone over every bit of what had truly happened at the Philharmonic that night in excruciating detail. And so, the young genius that prided herself on never showing weakness willed her fatigued legs to _just_ get her a bit further, to her car.

She stopped in what might have been surprise at the sight of a slender blonde woman in a blue halter top sitting on one of the courtroom benches idly playing with what looked to be one of the Judge's business cards. Adrian Andrews looked at Franziska and smiled, a slightly bemused expression on her face. "I was beginning to think you'd _never_ come out of there," she said in what struck Franziska as a slightly teasing tone.

"Have… have you been sitting out here the entire time?" the blue-haired prosecutor was… well, it was almost flattering, in an incredibly foolish way, of course. Naturally, Adrian was in a foreign city, and Franziska was her only way to reliably get around… of course, that was the reason she'd waited around. "It went later than most of them do. I… apologize."

Adrian shook her head slowly, "I haven't been here the entire time. I talked with that officer… his name was Hans, I think? We talked for a while, he showed me around the rest of the courtroom and actually bought me a quick little dinner at the cafeteria." She smiled, "He's a very nice guy. You should hear him talk about _you_, though…!" Adrian giggled a bit. "Hans really respects you, Franziska. Oh sure, you terrified him with that whip of yours when he was on the stand, but he was glowing about you the entire rest of the time we talked… you should really feel lucky to have people that respect you so much."

The prosecutor blinked, and was suddenly aware of exactly how exhausted she was—her carefully crafted mental barriers were down… how else could something as foolish as someone who worked under her respecting her affect her so? Of course he respected her, she was a von Karma! _Though you wouldn't know it from today's trial…_

"Oh. I… I apologize for keeping you waiting. You said that you didn't want to stay in the hotel again, correct?" Adrian nodded, and when it didn't look like she was going to say anything, Franziska continued. "…very well. I have a pull-out bed in the living room of my apartment. You can sleep there until we find a more suitable living arrangement."

With that, the two of them made their way to Franziska's car and left the courtroom behind them, driving through the winding streets and boulevards of Hamburg. The car ride was almost completely silent, neither of them speaking—and it was all Franziska could do to keep from collapsing and passing out at the wheel.

It was Adrian who broke the silence first, "So… you aren't upset that you lost the trial?"

"…of course not." _Of course I am. And I shouldn't be—because justice was done, and somehow the fact that it gets to me like this is even more upsetting. But… to lose to that buffoon of all people. Gunther Hertz is good, but he's no Phoenix Wright. _

_I'm no Miles. I'm barely my father's daughter._

"I mean… the guilty party was caught. Gunther's client was innocent, and he was found innocent in that trial. That's how the law is supposed to work, isn't it? What sort of person would I be if I worried more about my own record instead of seeing the truly guilty get caught?" _You would be a von Karma._

_If that case was truly perfect, it would have been the old man in the defendant's chair. You lost to the truth, yes, but it was sloppy investigating in the first place._

Franziska bit her lip, trying to keep herself away as she turned onto the familiar street where she lived (though she might as well have lived at her office, she spent so much time there). She parked the car in front of the stairs that led up to her apartment, unlocking the door and holding it open so that Adrian would have an easier time with her suitcase. It seemed like darkness was nibbling in at the corners of her vision, fatigue creeping up on her and about to engulf her entirely.

So, when she sat down on the couch that was one of the few pieces of furniture she bothered owning—anything more would be extraneous and wasteful—with far less dignity and grace than she'd planned on, she almost didn't care. All of a sudden, Franziska started to speak, and her voice was hot and full of more emotion than a _von Karma_ should ever use but she was completely drained and she was still so young and there was a point at which she just _didn't care_ anymore. "My father… he would have gotten that guilty verdict. He would have found a way to… change the facts, or make all of that fool Gunther's points sound crazy. My father? He was a genius. I… I gave up. I _gave up_…"

The other woman, who hadn't said a thing recently—merely listening closely to what the younger of the two was saying—moved to sit by Franziska on that couch, an inquisitive expression on her face and in her voice. "So, he would have found Otto Ostvald guilty. And then what would have happened…?" It was more rhetorical than not, but Franziska was past the point where she cared anymore.

"It's on a case by case basis, but… it was murder. He would have probably been given the death penalty. He would have been innocent, but my father would have gotten him the death penalty… and maintained that perfect record of his." Manfred's daughter looked down at the floor, fighting back bitter tears through sheer force of willpower alone. "My father was a genius, but what he did… it wasn't right. Still… I'm not worthy to be called his daughter. I _gave up._"

A gentle weight resting on her shoulder caused Franziska to pause for a moment and look over at Adrian, who was resting a slender hand on the younger girl's shoulder in a comforting gesture. Adrian smiled softly, and looked genuinely concerned… which was unfamiliar to the young prosecutor at best. "When you argue a trial… do you worry about what happens if the defendant is innocent but you find him guilty? Not… not because you intended to," she amended quickly, "but because… of circumstance? I… I don't think I could ever do what you do, Franziska."

Franziska took a deep breath, closing her eyes tightly, and answered, "I… have to trust the defense attorney. I have to make the best case I can and trust that I am prosecuting the right person; that my finding him or her guilty will be the right thing. I have to trust that the defense attorney will do his job if I… if I am wrong. If the defendant is innocent, I must believe that the defense attorney will prove his innocence. That's the only way… that's the only way to be a prosecutor."

She bit her lip again, and could taste the faint, salty-iron taste of blood on her tongue. "I… there is nobody I have that I can trust like that. Miles… he has Wright to trust to do the right job, but who can I trust here? They're all fools. I… I need to know that my case is _perfect_ so that I don't… send someone to their deaths. I can't trust any of them."

Adrian nodded in understanding. "So you try to do twice the work so that you can make up for where they fail… that makes sense." Her hand gently squeezed the other girl's shoulder in a comforting gesture. Adrian looked up, staring at nothing in particular, and finally said, "Though… sometimes, trusting somebody—even with a life—is all too easy."

_Is she talking about… trusting me?_ Franziska jerked away from Adrian abruptly, who looked startled and confused at the same time. Those words… that casual, gentle barb stung fiercely, and Franziska regretted ever letting any of her mental walls down… it had been so easy to do in her presence, exhausted, she seemed like someone Franziska could almost… trust… but this was frighteningly clear now.

"Yes. I know, Ms. Andrews, that I told you that you didn't have to admit anything about what you did to Juan Corrida's body. And I know that you trusted me and that you believed in me and that you clung to that desperately, and for that Miles Edgeworth told everybody what you never wanted them to hear. And because of that, you were sentenced to four months in jail. I'm all too aware of the consequences you suffered from trusting me, Ms. Andrews," Franziska willed herself to her feet, her voice trembling in something that might have been fury, but she wasn't sure.

The blonde American, meanwhile, looked stunned, mouthing words that weren't coming out… until she finally found a voice. "I… Franziska… I had no idea you felt that way. You've been thinking like that for… four months?" Adrian took off her glasses, looking at the other girl with a mix of shock, incredulity, and a tinge of regret or disappointment, it wasn't clear which. "I… I meant what I said on the phone, Franziska," her voice was calm if soft and tinged with a bit of melancholy, "I wanted to thank you. For all of that. For actually giving me something that I could hold on to."

She smiled sadly, unfolding the well-worn piece of paper that bore only a telephone number and a simple message to call if there was trouble. "I trusted you, Franziska. And… I trust you even now. Thank you for that, at the very least."

It was now the German prodigy's turn to be struck for words, searching for a phrase or a sentence or even a clause that would express how she felt…

"Fools," she practically spit out the word in contempt. "All of us. Humans are weak… emotional, fragile fools. I refuse to have this _foolish_ conversation right now."

With that, she stalked off to the adjoining bedroom and slammed the door behind her, leaving Adrian alone in the night once again.


	3. Mornings

**Follow the Fool**

_Three_

Light. It was light outside… surprisingly and irritatingly bright. Franziska von Karma's eyes slowly slid open—and then closed tightly against the painful glare that she knew logically was merely the gentle mid-morning sunlight filtering through her curtains but felt so much harsher and…

Her eyes opened wide suddenly. _Mid-morning?!_ Franziska practically jumped out of her bed, her still half-asleep brain scrambling to wake up and match her pace (dimly recognizing that she was in her normal, everyday outfit and had likely fallen asleep in such). She was _never_ late to work. Ever since she had passed the bar at the ludicrously young age of 13, the only times she had ever been late or missed work entirely had been when she'd been shot in the shoulder, and… well, that was that. To oversleep like this, no matter how tired she'd been, was absolutely unacceptable.

It wasn't until she was frantically slipping her stocking-clad feet into her boots that her mind finally caught up with her, and with an embarrassed pause she remembered that it was, in fact, Saturday. Though she normally would work all weekend if she'd taken a case, the young prosecutor had no tasks on her plate—for the moment, anyway. Franziska still mentally harangued herself for sleeping so late; even if she had had no responsibilities, it was still inexcusable to be so… sloppy.

_This is wrong. This is… I can't… what's wrong with me?_ Franziska sat on the edge of her comfortable queen-sized bed, eyes closed in concentration. Sloppy. She was being sloppy and careless, and this was not like her—it should _not_ be like her. If her father were watching her… she could almost hear his voice, deep and so maddeningly calm that she would almost beg to be disciplined—but knew that if she broke down and gave in to his psychological warfare that it would only be worse for her. His gaze, disapproving no matter what she did, almost daring her to succeed—which she pushed herself to the point of exhaustion to do.

Her father had been a genius, of that there was no question. He had consigned his younger daughter and his practically-adopted son to the flames in hoping of forging a worthy successor… but Manfred von Karma's true brilliance could not be taught. One could not learn his clever insights, the way he masterfully crafted every single phrase he uttered to intimidate and coerce, or his diabolical charisma. Her father had been perfect, but the von Karma line might as well have ended with him.

Miles had not been worthy of the von Karma name. _Neither am I._ And… yet, she didn't know how she felt about that. In a strange coincidence, all three of them had had their perfect win records dashed to the ground and scattered into the winds by the same defense attorney. Her father… well, that case had been his end. Franziska suspected, though, that even if her father's crime had not been proven, the loss of his perfection might as well have killed him.

Manfred von Karma was gone, and in his place were two protégés that could never be as good as the original—two failed successors. When she'd heard about the 'death' of Miles Edgeworth, Franziska had known that he still lived, a gut feeling that turned out to be correct. His flight had been nigh-incomprehensible to her, and surely a sign of weakness. So, the final perfect von Karma had come to America… there had probably been a part of Franziska that longed to best Phoenix Wright in the courtroom, not out of some twisted desire to avenge her father, but to prove to herself and the world that she _was good enough_. That she could do something even her mighty father could not. That an exhausted little girl no longer had to be terrified of the eternal specter of Manfred von Karma.

But she had come to America mostly because of Miles. He was lost, he was weak… she wanted to believe he needed her. She was still perfect, and came to find Miles, so that she could guide her little brother back onto the path he'd fallen from like a good big sister should.

Nevertheless, her plans had backfired. She was unable to best Wright in court—her father's shadow weighed heavily upon her, her perfect record was lost… and worst of all, Franziska had found that Miles had found his own path. Not only did he not need her help, he didn't want it. Amidst the shame of losing her perfect record and knowing that she was to forever remain inferior to even her father's memory… that wound cut the deepest of all. Franziska had known that her father had never needed her help, but she'd always told herself that her little brother would always have need for her as an older sister. With that last comfort severed in an instant, Franziska was alone.

If there was a single person in the world whom Franziska von Karma trusted, it was her little brother. He had said that he'd needed to find for himself what being a prosecutor truly meant… at the time, it had sounded like nonsense to the young prosecutor. You were supposed to win. Stop at nothing to get that guilty verdict… that was the von Karma way. It was what the two of them had been taught since, well, she had learned to read.

And then she had lost. Not because of trickery or underhanded methods or an obfuscation of the truth… but because the defendants had truly been innocent. Something had then triggered in the young von Karma, something that she tried her hardest to suppress but found herself quite unable to despite herself. Those defendants had been innocent. She had been trying her hardest to see them found guilty of murder and sentenced to death.

_How many others were innocent…?_

It was a thought that made her shudder, though she would never let anybody see. Did she have innocent blood on her hands? Her father had truly been a murderer, but was she any better just because her own method of killing involved the government and a legal brief instead of a pistol or a knife?

Miles had unknowingly used forged evidence to convict a man of murder. Was that why he had fled? To find out what being a prosecutor truly meant so that he would never have to worry about innocent blood on his hands?

Franziska knew that Miles had been right. Her father, as genius as he was… she didn't know if she _wanted_ to be like him, even if it was possible. In some way, that felt like betraying the von Karma name even more than her failures in court ever could have.

So, on her return to Germany, she had resolved to work at her tasks harder than ever before, making sure that the person on the defendant's stand was the right person. Not for her father, but for her brother. Because he had been right… but he also _had_ Wright. Somebody whom he could trust to counter his every move, and whom he could afford to go full force against, because he knew that Phoenix Wright would be giving it his all as well… to uncover the truth.

The prosecutor, barely more than a girl, had nobody whom she could trust like that, nobody that she could rely on. So Franziska resolved to do double the work, since she could only really rely on herself…

_I'm such a fool._

Sighing to herself, Franziska climbed to her feet and walked to her bedroom door, pulling it open—and stopping short, momentarily startled at the sight of a blonde-haired woman in a simple black T-shirt and jeans curled up on her couch, reading a book. _Adrian…_ she'd completely forgotten that the other woman was staying here.

In a flash, the prior night came crashing back to her, her humiliating breakdown borne of exhaustion and frustration, Adrian's attempt at comforting her, and her angry reaction to something that the American had said… her cheeks flushed in a brief flash of embarrassment. Now, with a rested, lucid mind, she knew that her actions had been completely inexcusable, lashing out at a vulnerable woman who had admitted in that same conversation that she had trusted—and _still _trusted—the German girl. Just one more thing she had to make amends for…

Adrian looked up from her book and smiled, pushing her glasses back up from where they'd slid down during her reading, "Good morning," she said in a bright tone of voice, as if nothing had happened at all the previous night. It made Franziska feel slightly more uncomfortable, to be honest. "Do you feel a bit more rested, now? I… I made you breakfast," she said with a sheepish smile, pointing to what looked to be an attempt at an omelet in a cast-iron skillet on the stove.

Though she hated to admit it, Franziska was starving… she realized that she hadn't had anything since dinner the previous night, consumed as she was with yesterday's trial. So, thanking Adrian quietly, Franziska looked at the yellow concoction on her plate with what might have been utter dismay. She didn't think omelets were supposed to be so… _runny._

A bite confirmed that it didn't taste any better than it looked, and it was only her pride and dignity that kept her from making a face and spitting out. She forced herself to swallow, then faked a smile, "It's very good. Thank you for making it for me."

The other woman giggled a bit behind her hand, shaking her head. "No it's not. I had some before. It's nauseatingly awful… thanks for saying that, though." Adrian's head snapped up straight, as she remembered something. "Oh! I, uh, didn't know if you liked coffee or tea more, so I… I made both." A pot of dark, rich liquid sat in a nearby coffee-maker, while a kettle Franziska owned was gently whistling as a soft flame danced along its ceramic underside.

Franziska suddenly felt very strange, as if this weren't her house, but a very surreal dream. "I prefer tea," she said slowly, trying to figure out exactly what seemed so odd. "I feel that coffee makes one jittery and prone to mistakes in judgment—hardly a drink for a public prosecutor…" She looked at Adrian, puzzled, and admitted, "I… I don't _own_ a coffee-maker. How did that get there?"

"Oh! While you were asleep this morning, I went out and bought one." She smiled, a bit teasingly, "You've done so much for me, Franziska… I felt I had to help, even with something as little and stupid as that."

The blue-haired prodigy's look of puzzlement still hadn't faded. "You… bought it? But… you can't speak German."

Adrian held up the book she'd been reading, which Franziska could now plainly see was a German/English beginner's guide-slash-dictionary. "I, uh, bought this first." Putting the book down in her lap, the gentle American closed her eyes and recited, "Guten tag. Ich heisse Adrian. Angenehm." Though it was spoken with a heavy American accent, Franziska was admittedly impressed at how almost-perfect her pronunciation was.

She nodded slowly, "That's… very good. Do you speak many other languages?"

The other woman shook her head, "No, I always wanted to study them but never really had the chance to… so I figure, might as well start now, right? Why not have German as my first… right?" Adrian looked a bit bashful, though Franziska couldn't figure out why.

_Adrian bought a book so that she could learn how to ask to buy a coffee maker in a different language just because she didn't know if I preferred to drink tea or coffee…_

Though Adrian was in mid-sentence about how she was finding it hard to get the tones right this early on, Franziska said abruptly, cutting her off, "I'm sorry."

"Excuse me?" Adrian looked slightly surprised, tilting her head to the side. "Sorry for what?"

_Everything._ "…last night," admitted the younger woman, fighting the urge to look down at her boots. "I behaved… inappropriately. I understand you were only trying to help me in what was already an unpardonably shameful state… I had no right to snap at you the way I did. It was not proper of me to do so," she said, maintaining an even, stiffly formal tone during the entire 'confession.'

Adjusting her glasses, Adrian shook her head again, "Proper… I don't really care for proper much anymore."

Franziska's reply was sharp and curt, more so than she'd intended, "Perhaps not, but I do. I should not have acted like I did. For that, I apologize."

"No…" Adrian trailed off, and seemed to be looking out into thin air at nothing in particular. "Franziska, I'm the one who should apologize." _What? What could she possibly have to apologize for?!_ Of all the things Franziska had expected the American to say, that was not one of them. "You… you said a few things to me last night that really made me think. You told me that you were aware of the consequences I faced because I trusted you, right?" Franziska didn't answer, because she really didn't need to.

The girl in the black shirt sighed softly, a wan smile on her lips. "I had no idea you thought of it like that. That you thought my trust in you was… was a burden, or misplaced, or that you were responsible for everything I went through. If I'd known you felt like that, well…" she trailed off again, before conceding, "well, there's not much I could have done from inside prison." Franziska flinched involuntarily.

"I came out here because… because I wanted to see you. Not because I thought you were _responsible_ for me or that you owed me anything. I wanted… I wanted to see you, and talk to you, and make sure that you weren't just a fantasy I'd dreamed up four months ago." An extremely perceptive person might have noticed a slight reddish tint on her cheeks. "I'm sorry I gave you any impression that I considered any of what happened to me your fault, Franziska. It's not." She looked up, meeting the German girl's gaze with her own. "I wanted to thank you."

Franziska finally found her voice, though it wasn't as strong as it normally was. "Thank me? How… for what? I would have thought that the past four months would have been proof enough that you shouldn't need to thank me."

Adrian's voice was calm and steady, though as quiet as it ever was. "Franziska… I deserved to be in jail. I realized that even if I hadn't confessed on the stand… I would have turned myself in." She looked away for a moment, "What I did that night four months ago was selfish, stupid, and I didn't think it through. But even though Matt _was_ guilty… I committed a crime. For me to commit a crime and hope to get away with it? …I'd be no better than he was."

The blonde woman frowned to herself, "For four months, I rehearsed in my head every day what I'd tell you when I saw you again… and now that I finally have the chance to tell you all of this, it just seems so… stupid and empty. I don't know…" Adrian looked down at the floor before continuing to speak.

"Franziska, I'm not a strong person. I'm not like you, or Mr. Edgeworth, or Mr. Wright… I'm not. I know that… I have to depend on someone, and I know that there is _something wrong_ with me… something wrong with how my body and brain work." Her face was red, as if admitting this was still hard for her to do, but kept on speaking. "That… that will always be my cross to bear. It's not like I can wake up and change my outfit, or cut my hair, or decide that I suddenly want to have a career as a pop musician, right? I-I can't just say, 'Right, I'm not going to be dependant on other people anymore,' because it doesn't work like that."

"When… when I have someone… when I had Celeste… I could keep going. I was almost… well, I'll never be _normal_ but I could act like it. I could function on my own just as long as I knew she was there and I had her to lean on. And then… and then she was gone, and there was this hole right here," Adrian pressed a slender hand to her left breast, "And I couldn't fill it. I…" she paused again, trying to collect her thoughts, trying to stop the flow of words pouring out of her. "What I said last night about it being easy to trust somebody, I wasn't referring to you."

She continued, "I… in a weird way I almost trusted in Juan and Matt. Not that I trusted _them_, but I trusted in them. I trusted that I would get my revenge… I knew I would, I would avenge what they'd done to Celeste, and I guess I thought that maybe that would fill this gaping, consuming hole that grew every day. That knowledge is what kept me going. And then… it happened. Juan was dead, and Matt was guilty of his murder—I _knew_ Matt was guilty… but nothing changed."

Adrian looked up, rubbing her hand across her eyes, and Franziska saw the shine of hastily-rubbed-away moisture on her cheeks but said nothing. "Then…? I met you, and you were smart, and you knew what to do, and you told me that if I did exactly what you told me to do, I would be fine and Matt would be guilty. You _promised_ me that you would find him guilty."

It was Franziska's turn to look away, and she could feel her shame piercing her chest like a knife. "And… I was wrong," said the prodigy softly. "You believed in me, and I was wrong. That was what I wanted to apologize for… because if you hadn't listened to me and believed what I'd said, you would have never had to face Miles on the stand…"

"No! Th-that's not it at all," protested Adrian, a slight tinge of desperation in her voice. "I… well, okay, maybe… maybe you're sort of right about… about it. But… you told me that, and I believed you, and because of that I could feel like I could keep on going, just because of.. of what you said. And then… on the stand, when Mr. Edgeworth was telling the court and the public… everything, everything I'd worked so hard to hide about Celeste and myself and my… my problems. It was like he was stripping away layers of skin one by one and it hurt just as much." Adrian made no effort to hide the hot beads of liquid trickling down her cheeks. "I wanted to die. I wanted… the earth to open up and to not be alive anymore."

"But… it's silly, but I clung to what you'd told me so fiercely because it was all I had left. And just somehow knowing that because there was a woman I could trust and believe in, and who… who seemed to actually care about me—even though I know you… you probably didn't and I was just imagining that—" she stammered out hastily. "That… kept me going. And honestly…? I spent so much time worrying about covering up what had happened that… when it was all out, I had nothing left to hide. And it felt… it felt nice."

Adrian took off her glasses, closing her eyes in thought. "It's almost like… it was an old wound, and Mr. Edgeworth re-opened it and peeled off all the scar tissue and it hurt like anything else… but beneath it, there was healed, fresh skin, and…" she laughed, embarrassed. "That was a horrible simile, wasn't it?"

The two of them were silent for what felt like an eternity but was probably only 30 seconds, and then Adrian took a deep breath and spoke once more. "I'm not a strong woman, Franziska. You are. I'm weak, and—and I know that. But what you did… you gave me something to hold onto to keep myself going, and because of you, and Mr. Edgeworth, and Mr. Wright… well, it's easier to accept myself. I'm not a strong person, but I'm _comfortable_ with who I am." She sniffed, wiping away stray tears and giving Franziska a genuine smile. "I bet you must think everything I just said is really 'foolish,' right? I… I had to say it, though."

Franziska said nothing, walking over to sit by Adrian on the couch in absolute silence, staring at the ceiling for a few brief eternities, before answering, "Some of it, yes. …not all of it. I… felt that I had betrayed you," she admitted at last, "And that… I was responsible for everything you went through. Which, I am. I did… I do care. About… about you, that is. I felt like it was my duty to… protect you. Make up for what I'd done."

Adrian made a sound that was half-giggle, half-sniffle. "Boy… what a crazy pair we must seem like, huh? Anyway… Franziska, thank you so much. For everything."

The prodigy glanced over at the other woman, raising a blue-gray eyebrow. "And I'm sorry. Also for everything."

"That's not… _usually_ how it goes," nodded Adrian, "But… I think I can accept that. Apology accepted." With that, she leaned forward, resting her head on Franziska's shoulder and enfolding her in a warm embrace.

Although taken aback, the daughter of Manfred von Karma did not immediately push the blonde American off—as was her first inclination. _Von Karmas do _not_ hug._ "…you're welcome," she said at last, so softly that she wasn't sure that Adrian could actually hear her.

And then, though her moves were choppy and awkward as if her muscles were simply unused to the motion, she returned the hug.


	4. Revelations

**Follow the Fool**

_Four_

However much pride Franziska von Karma took in her mental strength and physical endurance, she, like her father, was mortal. And, having not had a proper meal in almost two days, she found that she was rather hungry. Famished, even. Though the American woman had had good intentions, Adrian Andrews' attempt at cooking an omelet had been an unquestionable disaster—and the young prosecutor grudgingly admitted that she'd never bothered to learn how to really cook anything more than the simplest of dishes for herself, either. She'd not had the time, after all.

Since, as it turned out, there was no food in Franziska's pantry worth mentioning, the two women decided to head out to find something to eat. Franziska excused herself, ducking back inside her bedroom to change out of her formal work attire—there were benefits to the weekend, after all. Once the door closed behind her, the prodigy sighed heavily to herself. _That went…_well, to be perfectly frank with herself, Franziska actually had no idea how that had gone at all.

Some of her worst fears—that Adrian would hold a grudge, or resent what had happened to her—had been alleviated, yes. And Adrian herself truly seemed better off and more stable now than when Franziska had seen her last. She was actually… grateful for what the lawyer had done, and the German girl would have been lying if she said that some part of her—all right, quite a bit of her—wasn't touched at the thought. Everything in her conscious mind said that the conversation and her apology had gone rather well.

So… why did she feel so vulnerable, all of a sudden?

_My father needed a successor, but I couldn't live up to that… and I don't know if I want to. I thought… I thought that Miles needed his older sister, but he was actually better off without me… he doesn't need me anymore. Maybe he never did._

_I thought that Adrian… maybe she needed a protector, someone to take responsibility for her and guard her. Maybe she did, four months ago. But the woman beyond that door is different… she doesn't need someone to take responsibility for her. I was deluding myself. She doesn't need me either._

Franziska closed her eyes, shaking her head to nobody in particular. _Was that just it? Did I worry about her for four months just out of some pathetic impulse to be needed? Is that why I memorized the date her sentence ended, or gave Miles that phone number to give to her… or gave a damn about her? Was I trying to fool myself into thinking that there was somebody on this planet who actually needed me?_

…_that doesn't feel right. No, I _know _that's not right. But… it's the only explanation that makes sense. What… what else could there be?_

She sighed again, kicking off her boots, for once not caring that they weren't in their specifically designated spot. Franziska entered her bathroom, twisting the dial on the wall that caused the nearby shower to hiss into life, streams of water cascading onto the porcelain bathtub below.

The young woman disrobed as she waited for the shower to heat up, hanging the various pieces of her usual outfit in her closet or putting them in the laundry basket where appropriate. Franziska, testing the water with her hand to make sure it wasn't too hot, pulled the curtain to the side and stepped in, closing her eyes as the warm embrace of the water and the gentle caress of the rising steam enveloped her body, washing away two days of frantic work and exhaustion.

Franziska stood in the shower motionless, letting the streams of water dance over her face, dripping down onto her skin and then to the ceramic surface below, letting it rejuvenate and calm her. _I'm such a fool. She… who was I to think that she could _need_ me like I imagined she did? Look at her now… she knows more about herself and who she is and what she wants than I ever have. Who am I to place myself above her like that?_

_If everything I felt towards her, all that responsibility and maybe… maybe even a bit of caring… was that just for such a puerile, selfish reason? I refuse to believe that. But then why haven't I been able to stop thinking about her?_

She was in the middle of washing her short, blue-gray hair when she heard a knock on the bathroom door, and a muffled voice call, "Franziska?"

_Who told you you could come into my room without my permission?_ She wanted to ask, but instead responded, "…yes?"

"I'm trying to make a reservation at a restaurant for us. Do you know anything good, or have any preferences?" Adrian's voice was muted through the hard wood of the door and the rushing sounds of the shower.

Franziska shook her head, even though Adrian couldn't see the motion. "I… I don't really eat out much," she replied, "I have no preference. Pick what you want." The other woman responded a wordless affirmative, leaving Franziska alone with her thoughts. _It makes no sense… the foolish thoughts of a foolishly foolish girl with foolishly foolish desires and foolish dreams._

A minute later, there was another call. "Franziska…?"

The German woman sighed to herself. "Yes?"

"…there's no section in the dictionary about making a reservation at a restaurant. And they don't speak English."

She sighed again. "Adrian… it's barely noon. We don't need to make reservations for lunch. If we do, I will handle it."

"All right."

_Well… maybe she still needs a translator. But nothing more._

--

Franziska placed the black newsie-style cap on her head, thankful that her relatively short hair dried quickly. She quickly checked herself in the mirror on the sliding door of her closet, making sure that she looked as perfect as one could expect in her situation. She was wearing a dark sleeveless shirt that fit her snugly and exactly, and was just short enough to leave a bit of her midriff exposed. Her pants were black with a white belt more for the visual contrast than to hold them up, a white that was matched by her white pumps that she often wore when not in her formal court attire.

She exited into the main room of her apartment, slinging the thin strap of her purse across her shoulders as she did so. Adrian, too, had changed into a black halter top of the style Franziska had grown accustomed to her wearing, with a pair of turquoise bell-bottoms that the young lawyer decided it would be best to not comment on. Hearing the door open, Adrian looked up, and Franziska saw her face register something that seemed to be a mixture between shock, surprise, and amusement. "Is… something the matter?"

Adrian shook her head, adjusting her glasses as she stood up, smiling warmly at the other. "No, it's just… this is the first time I've ever seen you wearing something that wasn't the outfit you always wear." She looked thoughtful for a moment, though Franziska got the impression that it was a slightly facetious expression. "Actually, I… really never imagined you wearing anything else."

The American woman smiled again. "You look great in it, Franziska. It suits you well."

After a moments hesitation, Franziska managed to slip a smile onto her own face as well—for once, not the cocky grin of the confident and collected prosecutor, but a genuine smile that carried up into her eyes. Franziska couldn't remember the last time she'd smiled like that. "…thank you. Miles helped me pick it out." With that, she headed to the door, Adrian following her. The two of them left her apartment, and she locked the door behind them. "So… where are we going?"

"I think I found an Italian restaurant a little walk away," answered the other woman, idly taking off her glasses and running a hand through her long blonde hair that had caught the drift of a gentle summer breeze. "I… I think so, anyway. Gian DiMarco… or maybe just Marco. It was something like that."

Franziska nodded, letting the wind's caress cool her skin for a few moments before speaking. "I believe I know the place. Very well then, shall we?"

The two of them had been walking for about a minute before Adrian asked, "You mentioned Miles earlier… who did you mean? Who's this 'Miles' that picked out such a cute outfit, because he's got very nice taste." She laughed softly and good-naturedly.

The younger woman arched a blue-gray eyebrow silently. "Miles is my younger brother," was all she volunteered, reading the signs of the various eateries and restaurants they passed trying to find one that sounded like the name Adrian had gave her.

"Oh? What does he do… is he a fashion designer or something?"

Franziska turned her head to look at her companion, a look on her face that seemed to fall exactly between "incredulous" and "ticked pink." "No," she said slowly, with a tone that sounded like she was explaining a concept as simple as basic addition to a child. "Miles is a lawyer. You've met him before."

Adrian looked startled, reflexively removing her glasses and blinking her eyes for a moment. "You… you can't mean Mr. Edgeworth, can you? He's your brother?!" Franziska said nothing, merely nodding. "But… you don't have the same last name," said the blonde woman with a pensive look on her face. "Did he change his name? Or maybe… was he adopted? An adoptive brother?"

With the same tone she'd used before—as though this was the simplest, most fundamental concept in the world—Franziska simply responded, "He's Miles. That's all." She returned to scanning the names of the establishments they passed before seeing a little Italian café that was, sure enough, named 'Gian DiMarco.'

Her companion's face brightened at the sight, "Oh! I was right about the name! I thought that was what he said, but he had a very thick accent…" she trailed off.

Franziska signaled to a waiter with a brief tilt of her head, nothing more, and the short, thin little man hurried over to the two ladies, leading them to one of the several outdoor tables that had several other couples seated around them, enjoying the balmy weather. The two of them sat down at their table, Franziska idly drumming her fingers on the meshed metal it was made out of. "Wait…" Adrian started to say, a puzzled look in her eyes, as the waiter returned with a pair of menus. "So… you said that he was your younger brother, right? Aren't you eighteen, though? Then… that doesn't make any sense."

The prodigy sighed softly. "He's Miles," she repeated, but something spurred her to elaborate for the blonde woman. "I've known him since I was…" she paused, thinking to herself before admitting, "I actually can't ever remember life without Miles. My father was… well, he was my father, and the staff wasn't much family. My sister went to university when I was 5, so she was never home much."

She smiled, a wistful smile that spoke volumes completely silently. "He was… I guess the closest thing I ever had to 'normal' family. I'd already become so preoccupied and… obsessed, really, with my study of the law that I wanted to act as adult and mature as I could. So, I pretended that he was my younger brother and—and looked up to me as a big sister." Franziska rested her chin in her hand, staring off into space with no real focus whatsoever. "I don't actually think my father ever legally adopted him, come to think of it. But… that didn't matter to me. He was Miles, my little brother. That's… just how it was. How it always would be."

Franziska shook her head softly, feeling her face flush in embarrassment. "It's… it sounds so silly, saying it out loud." The volume of her voice softened suddenly as she continued to speak. "I… I don't actually think I've ever told anyone that before," said the attorney, a look of surprise on her face. _That was… almost easy. It just slipped out. What… I've never told anyone that before!_

Something had changed in the time between when she'd frantically jumped out of bed that morning and the present. She could… feel a looseness hanging in the air somehow, as if there had been something plugging and stopping up her breath, and now that thing was gone, and she could speak and talk and breathe and _she had smiled_. What… what had changed? Franziska prided herself on her skills of deductive reasoning and logic, but this made no sense.

"It's not silly," said Adrian gently, resting her cheek in one hand as she idly twirled a few stray strands of yellow hair with the other. "I think it's sweet and adorable… thank you for telling me that, Franziska." Her lips turned upwards in that warm smile that Franziska had so easily shrugged off just hours before—but it was almost like something that wasn't quite under her control had grabbed hold of her body and forced her to beam right back. It was nonplussing, to say the least. "Your father, though? What sort of person was he?"

"Have you decided what you want to order yet, Adrian?" Franziska asked, her nose suddenly in the menu. Out of the corner of her vision, the younger girl saw Adrian raise a golden eyebrow, clearly registering the abrupt change of topic, but respectfully saying nothing.

The American woman shrugged to herself, and Franziska thought she saw her faintly blush. "I… I left my book at home," she said, "I was sort of hoping you… could order for me? Since I don't know how to say it…"

Franziska nodded to herself as she perused the options. "Okay. I can do that if you want. What do you want me to tell them?"

"…the menu's in German, Franziska. I can't read it either."

With a deadpan look on her face, the young prosecutor arched an eyebrow in disbelief. "Adrian… it's Italian food. You don't need to be able to speak German to order Italian food."

"You do when the course descriptions are all in German!" pointed out Adrian in a tone of voice that was somewhere between a desperate plea and barely restrained laughter. "Franziska… please order for me? I wouldn't know what I was ordering. Even… even _if_ it is Italian food. In Germany." She screwed up her face, suppressing a laugh. "Oh. I… I didn't realize how silly that phrase just sounded until I said it out loud just now. Can I just get what you get, then?"

The prodigy nodded as she set the menu down on the table. "All right. I was going to just get plain spaghetti, is that okay with you?" Adrian nodded, and Franziska called the waiter over, placing the order. He scurried off to place it, leaving the two women at the table by themselves.

"So… Adrian," Franziska broke the silence for once. "Your family… did you tell them about your… your release from prison?" Adrian suddenly looked sad, and Franziska got the feeling that she'd said something she rather wasn't supposed to say. "If not, that's understandable, I imagine you'd have been very busy…" her voice trailed off. It was a lame cover for her faux pas and she knew it.

Her companion shook her head softly. "No, that's not it. I don't… I don't really know if you could say I _have_ a family, really. I was an only child, so I never had any brothers or sisters. My mother… she died when I was 9, of breast cancer. My dad remarried but I… I never got along well with my step-mom." Adrian looked up at Franziska, shrugging softly. "She meant well, but I think it was just at the wrong time in my childhood for something like that to happen. And my dad was always a chain-smoker but after my mother's death he picked it up… we found out he had lung cancer when I was 13, and he died of it two years later."

She laughed, but there was no real feeling behind it and Franziska could tell it was forced. "My step-mom remarried after that. So, I legally have parents, but… neither of them are really my family. I haven't talked to them since I graduated from high school."

Franziska's voice was an ashamed whisper. "I'm so sorry, Adrian. I didn't know…" She hadn't known, and there was no way she could have known, but somehow it felt like she _should_ have known, illogical and stupid as that was. "I shouldn't have asked."

Adrian shook her head again, a bit more forcefully. "No… no, it's okay, really," she gave a thin smile, but Franziska got the sense that she was actually telling the truth about that. "It's been a long time. I've learned to cope. You couldn't have known, so don't worry about it."

"I… I envy you your 'little brother,'" said the older girl. "At least you had him. That must have been nice."

"Miles went to America to take his bar exam there when I was 12," said Franziska softly. "My father stayed there most of the time, only coming back occasionally. Four months ago… it was the first time I'd seen him in six years."

The American woman laughed softly again, more at the absurdity of it all than out of any real humor. "What a pair we are," she echoed her statement from earlier in the day. "But… at least I had a bit of a childhood, Franziska. Your life—it's amazing. I can't even begin to think what it was like…" she shrugged, and the two of them were silent for a few short eternities.

"I only ever told Celeste that story," said Adrian at last. "Neither Matt nor Juan… I never told it to them." She adjusted her glasses, her voice taking on a spiteful tone. "Not that they would have ever paid attention to it or given a damn because it wasn't directly related to their ratings or earnings reports, of course. Still… you're the first person I've told about my parents since Celeste." Her expression softened again in a wry grin. "So now that makes us even, okay?"

"What was Celeste like?" Franziska's conscious mind immediately snapped at her for asking such an invasive question, especially after the debacle with Adrian's family… but it had just slipped out completely naturally, and Franziska had no idea how or why. To her surprise, Adrian didn't look shocked or hurt or upset like Franziska had predicted she would have, but smiled—a sad smile tinged with emotion but a smile nonetheless.

"Celeste… was amazing," said Adrian softly, eyes slightly unfocused and looking off into the distance. "You couldn't help but be drawn to her charisma, her intelligence, and her strength. She was so smart and brilliant and calculating, and she could be such a shrewd businesswoman, but she was also warm and funny and loved to smile and laugh—though she never showed that side of her in public. I met her when I was sixteen, a year after my father's death. She was nineteen, and already knew what she wanted to do with her life."

Adrian closed her eyes as she continued to speak. "My step-mom wanted me to go to university after I graduated high school, but I chose to follow Celeste into the world of managing actors… I chose what might have been an entire lifetime career just because I wanted to follow a single woman," she laughed. "That's ridiculous, isn't it? I mean… I was so devoted to her. I don't think I kept anything from her, ever. She tried to teach me everything about the business, but I never had her brilliance."

"She was everything to me," admitted the blonde woman. "She was everything to me… a friend, a mentor." There was a pause before she spoke again, as if she was thinking fiercely over what she was about to say. "I guess… I guess I was in love with her," admitted the gentle American, her cheeks flushing red.

Franziska nodded absentmindedly. "So you're a… you're a… a…" she trailed off, stopping the question by sheer force of will alone. The two of them might have been discussing _very_ personal information with as much hesitation or anxiety as talking about the weather—which in itself was inexplicable—but Franziska refused to go that far. That was _absolutely_ none of her business, and yet she found herself inexplicably curious.

Still, Adrian was a remarkably perceptive woman, and laughed softly to Franziska's chagrin, "A lesbian? I… hm. That's… that's a good question." She thought about it for about half a minute, with the blue-haired German girl too embarrassed by having asked the question in the first place to speak. "I don't know," answered Adrian at long last. "I know I had crushes on boys when I was growing up, but not since I've been an adult. Then again… when your two nearest representatives of a gender are Matt Engarde and Juan Corrida, it might not make a girl particularly keen on the entire lot of them." She giggled to herself.

She pushed her glasses a bit farther up along the bridge of her nose before shrugging. "I don't know. I don't think it mattered to me one way or another, really. I didn't feel the way I did about Celeste because she was a woman, I know that much. I loved her because… because she was Celeste. And that's all that really ever mattered to me."

As if she'd been deeply struck by a realization, Adrian fell silent, looking down at the mesh grate of the table. "Wow," she said at last with a short, incredulous laugh. "That…? I never told that to anyone before. Not even Celeste. It just… it slipped out. I didn't even mean to say all of that… I never told anybody that."

Adrian shrugged again, though not to any question in particular. "I… sometimes it's hard to really believe that she's gone, you know? It was just so sudden… and I know you read the report about how I tried to follow her but couldn't even tie a noose properly… couldn't even kill myself properly. But… she wouldn't have wanted that. Celeste didn't feel about me in the same way I felt about her, I know that… but I do know that she cared for me."

Looking up at the younger prodigy of the prosecuting stand, Adrian rested her chin in her hand. "She wouldn't have wanted me to suffer and put myself through what I did for those two years… I'm almost sure of it. Maybe… maybe I'm honoring her memory better by moving on and not dwelling on it anymore. What do you think, Franziska?"

For one of the first times in her life, Franziska had absolutely nothing to say, going over dozens and dozens of potential responses that all felt empty and trite—but luckily, Adrian laughed and adjusted her glasses, shaking her head once more. "You don't have to answer that. I don't know if it's possible to answer it, really."

The two of them sat in silence for about a minute, looking anywhere but at the other, before Adrian asked, a curious tone in her voice, "Just… just out of curiosity, why did you ask? About… about me and… if I was… you know," she said haltingly.

"Why…?" Franziska's control wasn't enough to keep surprise off her face for a split instant. _Why did I? It just… I have no idea. _She shrugged, keeping her tone even. "Oh… I was just wondering. No real reason." Her cheeks were hot, and she had absolutely no idea why. Perhaps the exhaustion of the past few days had caused her to come down with a fever?

"Oh." Adrian answered, falling silent again.

Franziska looked up suddenly, and smiled—it came easily, deceptively quickly. "Thank you. For… for trusting me enough to tell me all that."

"You're welcome," responded Adrian with a soft, matching grin. "Thank you for trusting me enough to listen."

Then their food arrived, and so Franziska was left wondering what exactly the blonde woman had meant by that.


	5. Passions

**Follow the Fool**

_Five_

It was Wednesday.

Adrian Andrews had been in Hamburg, Germany, for just under a week now. The weather had been nice and warm, with no traces of the heavy rain and storms that Franziska had mentioned plaguing the area in early summer. The sun was high in the sky, shining its life-giving glow down on everything below, with only a few puffy white clouds dotting that endless blue.

She had spent most of Saturday being shown around the neighborhood immediately surrounding Franziska's apartment by the young prosecutor, talking here and there about nothing in particular. On Sunday, though, Franziska had excused herself, saying that she had certain things to take care of at work, and she had been gone all day. Though Adrian had kept herself busy by reading her new German language primer, it was a very long time to spend by oneself in an apartment that was clearly not meant for entertaining visitors.

The young American had tried to go out and explore the neighborhood, but something hadn't felt quite right, so she'd returned to the apartment and tried to occupy herself with the textbook. Her mind kept wandering, though, and so that was rather fruitless. Once Franziska had returned, she had agreed that it was a poor host to leave her guest alone all day with nothing to do… however, Franziska was a busy woman, and could not take time from her extremely jam-packed schedule to show Adrian around, no matter how much she might have wanted to.

So, Franziska had 'enlisted' the aid of one Hans Ernst, the powerfully-built young-faced police officer. He and Adrian had spent some time together after the trial on Friday, and she found the good-natured if awkward young officer's mannerisms and personality rather endearing. Though Hans had initially been glum and downtrodden about his assignment to take Adrian through the city, believing that the Prosecutor whom he respected so highly didn't trust his skills as a policeman and was giving him an assignment he couldn't possibly screw up, he quickly warmed to the task. It was quite clear that Hans Ernst was fond of the city he'd lived in all his life, and had even taken Adrian to meet his parents—who were just as tall and broad-shouldered as he was, if not more so.

That had been a rather… amusing afternoon.

Though Adrian enjoyed Hans' exuberance and enthusiasm, and found most of what he told her about the city's long history absolutely fascinating, she couldn't help her thoughts from wandering.

Adrian smiled to herself as Hans pointed at a nearby office building, talking about how it was the oldest building in the district or something—she wasn't really paying attention to it. That morning, she had seen Franziska off in the morning like she usually did (though the two of them had agreed after a mishap on Monday that no matter how good her intentions were, there was a perfectly good cafeteria in the Prosecutor's Department, and Adrian really didn't need to waste time making Franziska a lunch, especially when it was rather inedible). There had been something in her eyes, an intensity that had struck a chord deep within the older girl.

Ever since the two of them had admitted what they'd been harboring—guilt, responsibility, deep gratitude and admiration—on Saturday, something had changed. Something had been different… the air around the two of them had felt lighter, less burdened. It was incredibly easy to tell Franziska… well, tell her _anything_, and Adrian had to be mindful not to let too much out.

The blonde woman could feel something in the air, a delightful tingle that made her shiver from head to toe like a mild electric shock. It was almost as if Franziska's forceful personality were literally magnetic—though that was silly, of course. Still, the spark that Adrian felt when her hand brushed the prodigy's thin leather gloves was more than static electricity.

For two and a half years, the life of Adrian Andrews had been a cold one, devoid of any passion or intensity other than the one goal she clung to as fiercely as she could. The suicide of the woman she had relied on… had loved… left a gaping wound that lasted long after the bruises on her neck from the improperly made noose had faded. Adrian could feel that wound growing steadily every day, a sinkhole that threatened to undermine the network of elaborately constructed walls she'd thrown up in defense of her already fragile mind.

She had woken up cautious, gone to bed cautious, and lived every second of every hour of every day like she'd been handling a deadly explosive device. Adrian had been terrified of losing herself, of letting her guard down for just the wrong split second and having something happen that would jostle those walls, and everything would crumble. There had been no passion in her single-minded pursuit to protect the memory of Celeste Inpax from being used as just another piece of ammunition in the selfish, hateful rivalry between the two people who had killed her in the first place. Just cold, precise caution.

It had almost been easy. Matt Engarde and Juan Corrida were vain, selfish men, and calling them idiots would be doing the rest of the world's morons a disservice. There was no passion in their lives either, not even in their rivalry. She would read Matt his ratings numbers, he would ask about Juan's, and whether or not he was leading or not… he had shrugged it off with a wave and a sigh. Adrian read those rating reports to him every week for two years, waiting for the slightest sign of intensity or passion or fire. But there was none.

The woman she had loved had been murdered over something that Matt Engarde would dismiss with a sigh and a wave exactly one hundred and twelve times before the end.

And yet, Adrian, though every part of the emotional being inside her that still could feel cried out at her to hate him and despise him and give in to that primal urge… she did not hate Matt Engarde, nor did she hate Juan Corrida. Hate was a passion—a luxury that she could _not_ afford if she wanted to let Celeste Inpax finally rest.

It wasn't until she plunged that golden knife into the chest of the man she had been pretending was her lover and felt his blood—hot, but not quite hot enough to sustain life—trickle down his suit and through her fingers, over her hand… that she allowed herself that final luxury and hated Juan Corrida with the last spark of passion left in her body. That night, she could almost feel those final embers flicker and die out, for what might have been forever.

The gaping wound had won. She was cold. Juan was dead, she had known Matt Engarde was the culprit, and now Celeste's final words would remain silent for eternity. The drive—the obsession—that had sustained her for two years was gone. Celeste had been dead for two years, and the last scrap of her that Adrian had been able to hold on to … had disappeared.

Then, she had met Franziska von Karma.

For two years, the only things she had seen Matt Engarde ever give a damn about were his image and his bank account—and even then, it was hardly impassioned. Adrian's life had been so utterly devoid of any sort of fervor that the sheer force of the intensity that radiated off the young prodigy had stunned her, overwhelmed her. It was startling and frightening and yet… not wholly unwelcome.

She had confessed to how she had framed Engarde, and as she told the determined prosecutor everything, felt it bubbling up inside of her once more. How much she hated Juan Corrida, how much she hated Matt Engarde… all the anger and grief and confusion and shame that Adrian had _not let herself feel_ for two years poured back in a flood of emotion.

Franziska had taken it all in intently, calmly and confidently. She had reassured Adrian that no matter what, she _would_ get a guilty verdict for Matt Engarde tomorrow. That Adrian didn't have to incriminate herself for the crime she'd committed if she didn't want to. Every single word Franziska had said had been laced with a furor that suggested a deep burning desire within her, a confidence and determination that had been missing from Adrian's life for far too long.

Adrian clung to that like it was the final life preserver thrown to her before she went down for the third time. It was her last chance.

On the stand, Miles Edgeworth—not Franziska—had revealed to the court every single thing that Adrian had tried to conceal for the past two years, apparently in vain. Her disorder, her utter dependence on Celeste Inpax, and what the two men had done to her mentor to drive her to suicide. The last thing she'd sworn to do in Celeste's memory had been an abject failure.

She had been accused of murder. Not only that, but she had been accused of the murder she knew _Matt Engarde_ was responsible for. She would pay the price for his sins, he would get away free… and sigh about it, dismissing it with a wave. It hurt so badly she thought she would be literally torn to pieces… but she would not let that happen. The young prodigy's passion had finally ignited the cold ashes she'd thought were all that remained.

She would not let Matt Engarde get away with it.

Even though she'd been innocent of Juan Corrida's murder, she had committed a crime, and for that she would be punished. Adrian had pleaded guilty to the charges, and had spent four months in jail, her most treasured possession a small scrap of paper with a phone number and a hastily written message to call if there was trouble.

For four months, she had been alone in the quiet gray walls with her thoughts. Slowly but steadily, she felt that wound that had threatened to consume her once upon a time start to close. Adrian could feel a small bit of warmth in her hands and feet, subtle but growing.

After two years, there was someone who cared. Not cared for her—though Adrian allowed herself brief fantasies that that was the case—but cared about _something_. And maybe… actually gave a damn about her. That was something she hadn't remembered feeling in a very, very long time. However, old habits die hard, and over four months, Adrian convinced herself that the aura of passion and radiance around Franziska von Karma… it had been a fantasy. The strong, confident woman that had promised Adrian that Matt Engarde would be found guilty for what he'd done… was all in her head.

She hadn't expected Franziska to pick up the phone. She certainly hadn't expected to be invited to Germany to meet face-to-face. Adrian had accepted, because she wanted to see Franziska again… and convince her rational self once and for all that the Franziska in her mind was just that—a fantasy. It wasn't until the attorney herself had driven off the persistent cabbie that demanded a customer that Adrian had been in that presence again and realized that… she'd actually been underestimating it.

Adrian sighed to herself, smiling foolishly as she did so. Franziska was truly an amazing woman. Strong, intelligent, clever, determined… extremely beautiful. She had confessed to the American that she _had_ cared about Adrian—in some manner or fashion of course. She had felt responsible for everything Adrian had gone through, and had wanted to protect her.

But… Adrian didn't need a protector. She didn't particularly want one, really, and didn't want Franziska to worry herself with it. The beautiful prosecutor had given her something to cling to, the last breath of passion and hope that she clung to when everything else was shattered. For that alone, well… Adrian was eternally grateful.

After that conversation, there was that spark, that burning flame that was almost palpable, but it felt almost different to Adrian. Like _it_ hadn't changed, but she had. Her perception of it had.

Despite any dependence problems she knew she would have to deal with her entire life, Adrian was an intelligent woman, who'd grown rather adept at knowing her emotions over the past few years. Things lingered with her—eyes meeting and staying locked together for a fraction of a second longer than they should have been, the brief brush of Franziska's hand on hers as they both went for the doorknob at once, the subtle, muted scent of the shampoo she used to wash her hair right after a shower… things that lingered, pulled her thoughts back to them, and made her feel fluttery.

She'd felt like this before, but only once.

Adrian knew that she'd fallen for Franziska von Karma, and fallen _hard_.

Not that she dared tell her that, of course. For the five years she'd known Celeste—and the two and a half years since her death—Adrian had admitted being in love with the woman only once, and that had been the past Saturday. She'd realized it long before, of course, having recognized those feelings for three years before Adrian had lost her. Never once had she said anything, merely content to smile and watch from the sidelines, never asking anything in return. Though Celeste had been coolly calculating in business, in private she was warm, affectionate, and trusted her younger protégé intimately.

That had been all the love Adrian had wanted or needed, and because of that, it hadn't hurt—well, not too much—to see Celeste fall for a young man whom, at the time, seemed perfectly sweet and likeable. Of course, things would change… and still, Adrian never, ever, admitted to Celeste Inpax what she felt for her. She didn't see a need for it.

The blonde girl adjusted her glasses, dimly registering what Hans was saying as he walked towards a larger, squat building that looked rather official. She didn't want to jeopardize anything… she didn't want to risk that. With Franziska, as with Celeste, she'd be content to love and admire from afar.

Then again…? Though they were both intelligent, strong women with magnetic personalities, Franziska and Celeste were certainly different. Celeste had her warm side, and was mature and reasonable about all things. It often seemed that Franziska, clever and smart as she was, acted completely lost when dealing with more personal issues. While Adrian had seen glimpses of a more affectionate nature in the attorney's personality here and there, it was nothing compared to Celeste's intimate warmth.

Was that a bad thing, though? They were two different women, with different goals and loves and secrets and needs. It would be 'foolish'—Adrian couldn't help but softly grin as she imagined the fiery prosecutor's voice saying the word—to assume otherwise. Celeste Inpax was not Franziska—

"—von Karma," finished up Hans, running a hand through his unruly brown hair, a beaming smile on his face.

Adrian quickly found herself jolted back to reality with a start, and stumbled over her thoughts and words for a few seconds before she actually became able of stringing together a coherent sentence. "E-excuse me, Hans? I… I'm sorry, I must have spaced out for a second, I didn't hear what you said."

Hans looked disappointed for a second, but quickly shoved it aside with a grin. "Okay! This building," he pointed behind him to the official-looking structure from before, "used to be the Hamburg Court House for years, until they relatively recently moved to the big Police-Prosecutor-Court building you saw the other day. Now, this building is only used for civil trials these days… but I think you'd find it interesting to know who it's named after." The large officer smiled. "It's the Wilhelm von Karma Courthouse."

The American blinked twice. "…Wilhelm?"

Her guide nodded enthusiastically. "Oh yes! He was a very, _very_ famous judge. He had the reputation of the cleverest, most impartial and fair judge in the entire country!"

"So… her legal skill really is inherited, after all." Adrian had heard about Franziska's incredibly early entry into the world of law, but had never really known more than that. The beautiful German woman would always change the subject if Adrian ever brought up her family, and she wouldn't press the issue. "Was her father a famous judge, too?"

Hans looked almost shocked. "No! You… you never heard of Manfred von Karma? Franziska never told you?!"

Taken back by his fervor, Adrian flushed despite herself, shaking her head and adjusting her glasses out of habit. Hans almost looked wounded that she'd never heard the name of Manfred von Karma. "Er… I… I can't say I've ever heard that name," she admitted with a shrug. "What did he do?"

The young officer looked almost proud to be the one to tell her, standing up straight and making what looked like the beginnings of a salute before he remembered that he wasn't addressing a superior on the force. "Manfred von Karma is Miss Franziska's father! He was the greatest prosecutor this country—no, the world—has ever known! In his entire career, he only lost one case… his last. His victories were innumerable! He taught Miss Franziska to be a lawyer since she could read, and she has inherited his legal brilliance!"

"Since… since she could read? Hans, are you joking with me?" Adrian asked with a soft, disbelieving laugh.

Shaking his head fiercely, Hans denied her question emphatically. "No, ma'am! Miss Franziska took her studies _very_ seriously, and has lived her entire life as the sole successor to the von Karma legal name! That was how she was able to pass the bar exam when she was only 12, and start taking cases at 13!"

Adrian blinked again. "That's… that's… incredible." _I knew Franziska started young, but… that's… I have no words. When I was sighing to myself over schoolgirl crushes, she was already arguing legal cases. _

…_that must not have been much of a childhood._

What must that have been like? To go through one's life with such a drive, such a single-minded purpose and goal? Adrian had only fallen into the entertainment managing business because she'd followed Celeste, she hadn't grown up harboring a lifelong dream to do what she'd ended up doing. Even now, she hadn't really thought about what she planned on doing for work, now that her client was spending the rest of his life in prison. To do what Franziska had done with her life was absolutely remarkable, but… Adrian didn't really know if that would be what she wanted for herself. After all, it didn't seem like there would be much room for anything extraneous or frivolous in the life of a young girl completely devoted to her studies. And sometimes the frivolous things were… well, they were nice to have.

Franziska was an incredible woman. The older girl sighed, finding herself thinking about how she stood, the how the light reflected off her hair when it was still wet… Adrian sighed to herself with a small smile, wondering what Franziska was up to right now, and maybe allowing herself a slight fantasy that the prodigy was sparing some time out of her busy schedule to think of her in return.

--

On the other side of the city, Franziska von Karma was not in a good mood, had not been in a good mood for a day or two, and found her mood rapidly growing worse. Since she hadn't planned on taking any cases while Adrian was around, the Chief of Police had unceremoniously dumped the mid-year payroll calculations on her. Because, after all, she was a lawyer, which meant she was logical, which naturally meant that she was good with numbers and had no problem spending her valuable time making sure all the numbers in one column added up to equal the numbers in another column.

It was tedious, mind-numbingly simple work, but that wasn't what bothered Franziska so much. She'd done tedious work before, and would likely do so in the future. It was a fact of life, even for someone as talented and skilled as her. No, she could deal with tedium and repetition in stoic perfection.

What bothered her was that… it was simple, and it was make-work, and it was just adding up numbers and making sure they were equal. And somehow, she kept _getting it wrong_.

That was absolutely unforgivable. But no matter how she tried, her mind kept slipping… kept wandering. To _her_. Franziska did not like it, and she could not understand it, but her finely honed mind and intellect that was her entire career and reputation was… troubled, somehow.

Franziska swore to herself as she finished with Detective Waldorf's payroll and found that somehow, she'd come up with a sum in the first column that was one hundred and thirty-seven dollars more than what the second column said it should be. Frustrated, Franziska decided that Waldorf had done better-than-usual work so far this year, and deserved a bonus of precisely one hundred and thirty-seven dollars over what he would have normally received.

_Fool. I am such a fool._

She had known everything about Adrian's issue, her dependency problem. And yet, she had fed it out of some stupid vainglorious desire to be needed… or a foolish sense of duty, a made-up obligation to a weak woman whom she should have cast aside and forgotten as soon as she'd finished with that case. That was what she'd been taught to do. That's what she should have done.

And yet, that was precisely what she had _not_ done. Adrian Andrews was here in Hamburg on Franziska's dime and at Franziska's request. The two talked, they conversed, and for a brief second Franziska had almost started to trust the shy older woman. All the warning signs had been there, and yet Franziska had foolishly ignored them. There was something different in how Adrian looked at her, and there was only one explanation that made sense. After the death of Celeste Inpax, Adrian had now latched on to the nearest strong presence, a woman who had foolishly shown compassion to her.

Adrian was dependent on Franziska now, and instead of cutting her off and leaving her to her own devices—possibly forcing to actually grow strong instead of relying on the strength of others around her—the prosecutor had fed that dependence.

Even more infuriating, the young prodigy had almost begun to enjoy Adrian's presence before the realization of what was happening had hit her. She felt betrayed, almost, though she knew it was her own fault.

Perhaps it wouldn't even be so bad… Adrian, after all, couldn't help it. If she had someone, she could function normally on her own. That… that wouldn't be all that bad, reasoned Franziska—No. She would not be a replacement. She would not be conveniently used because she was there.

Suddenly, she tasted the salty-iron taste of blood on her lips, and with a start realized that she'd been biting her lip so hard that she'd pierced the skin, without even realizing it, so absorbed had she been in her thoughts. Her thoughts that kept infuriatingly wandering to that accursed woman.

Franziska sighed heavily, resting her head in her hands briefly. She would do thirty more, and then call it a day.

--

The blonde woman always got back to the small apartment before the prosecutor did, though being on her own for an hour or so was much more tolerable than being there the entire day. As she closed the door behind her (Franziska having lent her a replica key so she could come and go as she pleased), Adrian smiled and laughed, at nothing in particular.

How could she occupy herself until Franziska returned, though? There was a big bookshelf along one wall that was packed with large editions of various books. Adrian had looked through it on Sunday and not found anything that had caught her eye, though perhaps she'd missed something. It was worth a shot, at any rate.

Nevertheless, it didn't look like there was anything she'd missed before (and seeing how thoroughly she'd searched the other day, that wasn't too surprising). All the books were either in German or some sort of legal text that she wasn't in much of a mood to peruse. When she was just about to give up, however, Adrian saw a small, unmarked book off to the side in the corner that she'd missed before.

Grabbing it in a slender hand, she pulled it free of its companions and opened it. She made a face—sure enough, it was all in German. Adrian was about to replace it when she saw the tip of something white sticking out from between the pages, a small piece of cardboard. The young American turned to that page, and reflexively gasped in astonishment.

It was a playing card with an illustration of a seashell on it in light red. Though this one was slightly defaced to look like a person Adrian thought she recognized but couldn't quite place, it was unmistakably one of the calling cards that Shelly de Killer left at the scene of one of his "jobs."

Placing the closed book on the top of the shelf, Adrian looked down at the card in her hands, her eyes trailing over the deceptively peaceful-looking conch that symbolized murder. There were black lines drawn on it, to represent a face in silhouette… a face with strangely spiky hair that looked oddly familiar to the young woman, though she couldn't attach a name to the figure.

_Why… why does she have one of these cards?_ The calling card that had been left by Juan Corrida's body (and mistakenly picked up by the blonde American in one of her stronger lapses in judgment) had been confiscated as evidence by the police back in Los Angeles, and Adrian couldn't really envision any of them—not even the absentminded detective who had investigated the case—doodling on a piece of crucial evidence like this. It had obviously come from someplace else, another time and probably another murder, and Adrian slipped the card into her pocket, intending to ask Franziska about it when she returned home.

Adrian continued perusing the bookshelf fruitlessly for a few more minutes, though she didn't expect to find anything (and, as a matter of fact, was correct in that assumption).

It was then that the door opened, slightly more forcefully than Adrian had ever remembered it opening. "Oh, you're home early!" Adrian said brightly, smiling at the younger woman.

Franziska was silent as she closed the door behind her, placing her purse and whip on the kitchen counter, and walked into the "living room" area, sitting down on the couch. "Hello, Adrian," she said softly, and the blonde woman immediately felt a chill run down her spine like someone had dumped a bucket of ice-water on her. Something was wrong. "Are… are you feeling all right, Franziska?" She asked almost despite herself. She didn't want to pry—it had just slipped out, like so much else did.

The blue-haired prodigy kept silent, breathing softly and slowly, looking straight at Adrian—no, not at Adrian, at the card that had somehow found its way into her hands from her pocket. "You were playing with that card back in Los Angeles, weren't you." It wasn't a question. With a start, Adrian looked down at the conch shell playing card she was frantically twirling in her fingers, a nervous reaction—she hadn't been aware she'd been doing it, but couldn't think of anything else to do. Something was very, very wrong.

Franziska continued speaking, her tone absolutely icy, and Adrian felt the temperature in the room drop several degrees. "Even with how far you seem to have come, Adrian, you and I both know that there are some things that will never change about you. There are some things that you simply cannot change. Your dependency disorder is one of them. Though I do not claim to know what it feels like to be you, I am certainly capable of understanding that much. It is something you can work through, but it is something that will _always_ be with you."

Her eyes looked straight at Adrian, drilling a hole through her, and the older girl couldn't help but flinch reflexively. The American wouldn't have thought it possible, but Franziska's tone of voice got even chillier. "Adrian Andrews, I am not your guardian, nor am I responsible for you. What goes on inside that head of yours is absolutely none of my business. If you wish to be dependent on me, so be it."

"I am not your big sister, or a mother figure. And, make absolutely _no mistake_, Adrian," her voice dropped to a whisper. "I will not be your replacement Celeste Inpax. Am I clear?"

If Franziska had walked up to Adrian and punched her in the stomach as hard as she could, it likely would have felt less painful. The blonde woman was trembling fiercely, and she just made it to a nearby chair before her legs gave out completely, falling into it. Adrian took off her glasses, trying to adjust them in a comfortingly familiar gesture, but her hands trembled so severely that she dropped them onto the floor.

In all of her fantasies, she'd never once thought about this. Acceptance, apathy, hatred… but not this. A simple refusal—not to be the one she depended on, but… not Celeste. You… you couldn't replace Celeste. _She wasn't. I don't think she… I didn't think of her that way. Did I? It… it hurts._ Adrian pressed her hand to her breast as she felt that familiar wound tear itself open.

_I can't have. I… Celeste is gone. I can't get her back. Did I… was I… I couldn't have been… was I?_

For a second, Adrian saw a flicker of concern cross Franziska's features—_did I imagine that? Did I imagine all of it? Was… was it just Celeste? Was I trying to make her my Celeste?_—but it was quickly suppressed into an impassive, impartial, stone-faced look.

"I… it… it wasn't…" stammered Adrian, trying to compose herself and not having any real success. "You… Franziska… it wasn't… like that, Franziska. I…" she swallowed, closing her eyes so that she wouldn't have to see the other girl sitting across the room from her impassively. "I…"

Adrian's voice was hoarse and trembling, like she would break down into tears at any moment. "I… you weren't ever a replacement… a replacement Celeste, Franziska…"

"Oh?" Her tone hadn't warmed any. "Is that so? Who was I, then? Your mother? The big sister you never had? The person who would take care of you and shelter you? I am not _any_ of those, Adrian Andrews."

"Stop… stop that…" whispered Adrian softly. "Franziska. I… you… you weren't. I don't… I don't _want_ someone to, to shelter me or take care of me. I'm not a—a child. I… I didn't _want_ you to worry about me or take responsibility for me. Please… please believe that."

She started to find her voice, though the lump in her throat and the growing hole in her chest threatened to break her down even as she spoke. "Franziska… I don't… I don't want a mother figure, or a sister. I don't want a protector. I don't want a guardian, or someone who… who takes care of me. Please believe… believe me, Franziska," pleaded the blonde woman.

"You… are _different_ from Celeste. That much is… is obvious. I can't bring her back, and though there's a stupid, moronic part of me that wants to, I know that I shouldn't. I should let Celeste rest in peace forever." Adrian's eyes flashed with a sudden passion, though she still shivered, hugging herself to try and stave off the sudden cold. "I… I don't want a Celeste. You aren't. My replacement Celeste. I… I know I'm starting to rely on you, or maybe I already do and am just realizing it, but that's not something I can help. It's not something I can stop, even though I know it's _stupid_ and weak and want to get rid of it. I can't do that, Franziska. I… can't just cut it loose from me."

"Franziska… I… you… I don't… I don't need a protector. I don't need a lawyer, I don't need a guardian, I don't need someone who has to _take care_ of me. I don't need a damn _von Karma_." She said fiercely, desperately, and for once it was Franziska's turn to look surprised.

Her voice softened, becoming a barely audible whisper, and she smiled sadly, single tears leaking out of the corner of her eyes. "I… I nee—I want… I need… Franziska. Not because you fill a role, or I'm imagining that you're something… but… I need you because of… you."

Adrian shook her head, her golden hair whipping around messily, but she didn't care. "But… maybe… maybe then I should… I should go book my flight home. Maybe that's best."

This was why she'd been so careful and cautious for two years. Because the moment you let your guard down, you would get your heart broken.

_Fantasies. That's all they are._

She drew her arm across her face, wiping away the tears, looking around the chair for her glasses. "Do… do you think you could call them for me," she sniffed. "I can't… speak German to order plane tickets back to America."

Franziska was silently sitting there. Judging her. When Adrian had confessed her crime four months ago, Franziska had assured her that she would not judge her or think she was a horrible person—because it did not matter, it was irrelevant and had nothing to do with whether or not Matt Engarde was guilty.

And now she was judging her, and it was excruciating, and Adrian wanted it all to just… go away.

"You… frustrate me."

Adrian looked up, a bit startled to hear Franziska speak with what was clearly unbridled emotion in her voice, and saw the young prosecutor looking off to the side, cheeks deeply flushed. She paused for a moment before continuing. "When I was growing up and studying law, my father told me that there were exactly two emotions worth caring about in this world—fear and respect. A von Karma would make the defense fear her, and make her underlings respect her. Just as he demanded I fear him… and respect him."

"Thanks… thanks to Miles, I also began to understand… you might call it affection. Responsibility. My duty to him as a big sister. …the love that a sister has for her brother. I learned those things as well. But… that was it."

Franziska paused, gathering her thoughts in silence. "…emotions," she said the word like it was a vile swear, "Are irrational. They make no sense. People with an overabundance of emotions are weak, and cannot function in this world." She looked directly at Adrian, her cheeks a dark, passionate red. "My job… what defines _me_, Franziska von Karma, is based on reason. Logic. I examine the facts, I piece together what happens bit by bit. There are rules, and guidelines. It is all rational and specific and it _makes sense_."

"There is a large bookshelf in my office that is filled with legal briefs that talk about cases establishing precedent, obscure legal rules and terms, how the law proceeds in over twenty-five separate countries around the world. I have them all memorized, down to the page number. My reasoning and logic and intellect are absolutely first-rate. If there is something in this _entire world_ I do not know—an obscure local law or legal precedent in a rural village in, in… Sri Lanka or somewhere… I can look it up. I can research it. It is exact, it is rational, and it is _law_. It is what I have lived my entire life doing."

She balled a gloved hand into a fist, slamming it down on the fabric of the couch next to her with a dull 'thud.' "So… I hope you understand _exactly_ how frustrating it is to feel what I feel and not be able to explain it. I go into work… and I cannot concentrate. Since I met you, Adrian Andrews, I have found myself thinking about you far too much. My mind wanders to you every few minutes, and I… I do not know why.. Before this weekend, I knew exactly why that was—I felt responsible for you, like it was my duty to take care of you and protect you and apologize for what I'd done."

"You, of course, told me exactly and in no uncertain terms that I did not have to be sorry or responsible for you anymore. That should have been enough. If you had been any other person, it _would_ have been enough. But for some reason, Adrian, I cannot _stop_ thinking about you. You distract me. And…" Franziska swallowed, trying to compose herself. "I _don't know why._ Before, I knew why I felt like I did. Now, I still feel that way and I can't understand it."

It almost seemed like she was the one about to break down into tears, and Adrian—despite herself—found that her heart was beginning to pound more heavily, threatening to break through and burst from her chest. "You _vex_ me completely, Adrian Andrews. Because when I look at you, I feel… a flutter, or a spark, and this should _not_ be happening and I can't explain it. It isn't something that I can look up in my legal glossary, or research—and believe me, I have tried. It is… inexplicable, and it is new, and I…" she swallowed again. "I want it to stop distracting me from my work."

"And… and I know I want it to stop distracting me, but when you just now said that you wanted to leave, I felt like somebody punched me." She bit her lip hard, looking down at the carpet, her face red. "I don't want you to leave. And that's completely irrational, it doesn't make sense, but that's the way it is _and I don't understand why!_" At that, she stood up from her seat, shaking her head and balling her hands into fists. "I don't understand why…" she repeated softly.

Without realizing that she was moving, Adrian had crossed the room to stand in front of the other woman. Her hand found Franziska's, and the feel of the thin leather glove, its texture and coolness, firmly grounded the blonde woman in reality—if only for a few more moments. "That's… not all that unusual, Franziska. It's… not like something is… wrong with you or anything. It… it happens."

There was no warning before Franziska suddenly stepped forward, throwing her arms around Adrian in an awkward yet impassioned embrace that the other woman gladly and gently returned. "It doesn't make sense," sniffed Franziska, her voice muffled by Adrian's shoulder. "And… and you frustrate me. And now I'm hugging you, and _von Karmas do not hug_."

Adrian smiled softly. "I think there's some evidence that contradicts your testimony…"

The younger girl sniffled again. "I'm hugging you—and that frustrates me, too. It doesn't make sense." There was a brief pause. "And… I think I just stepped on your glasses."


	6. Specters

**Follow the Fool**

_Six_

"You are not my daughter."

The voice was deep and rough, a rumbling, gravelly bass that one felt as much as heard. It was oddly calm, though anyone who knew the voice well could pick up the inflections that suggested a deep, hot streak of anger and disappointment. So much was contained in the subtle tones, that the voice would often influence people's emotions and attitude without them being aware of it. It was a hypnotic, powerful voice that wormed its way past one's defenses before striking like an unseen serpent at its prey.

Franziska von Karma knew those hidden inflections well. Her father's voice was maddeningly calm on the outside, but carried with it undercurrents of rage and disappointment. In her mind, the bass rumble was the dark thunder-clouds looming ominously overhead, the harbingers of the coming storm. The little girl willed herself to stop trembling in abject terror and didn't entirely succeed. Manfred von Karma's infuriatingly calm voice was as potent a psychological torture as ever devised, and an increasingly vocal side of her wanted to break down and beg for the punishment to come, to be over with. Franziska knew that if she did that, though, it would be even worse.

"You are not my daughter. You are not what I have raised you to be," her father repeated, holding up a piece of paper in front of the young girl's face, silently demanding that she look up and face it. Though every nerve in her body screamed at her to look away in shame, Franziska forced herself to look up at the red line angrily slashed across the middle of the page.

In his efforts to forge a worthy successor, Manfred von Karma would often test Franziska and her companion, the young man standing off to the side silently. He would ask them questions that they should know, and they would answer them. The questions were always precise and exact, and their answers were expected to be equally as precise, exact, and perfect.

There was no praise, should they answer everything perfectly correct. Manfred would look at it, nod, and toss it into the fireplace where it would be consumed by the flames. "Adequate," he would say. There was no praise, no congratulations—only adequate. Perfection was what was expected, what was demanded.

This time, Franziska had not been perfect. She had briefly confused the order of the laws of proper evidence introduction. It was a minor mistake, and in court would likely not be pressed or even matter at all, really. But it was a flaw nonetheless, and that was absolutely not acceptable. The harsh, blood-red line across the page marked that flaw and exposed it to all the world to see—or at least her papa and Miles, which to the young Franziska von Karma, was effectively all the world. She wanted to break down and cry in shame, but refused to let herself succumb… for it would be worse if she did.

Another part of her wanted to explain that she had been up so late studying that she had been exhausted, and that was the reason for her mistake. Franziska knew that her father would never accept any excuses, though—whatever the reason, the mistake had been made, and there was no judge or court of law that would say "It's okay, Prosecutor von Karma, you're tired, we can hold this trial tomorrow." There were no excuses. There was perfection—adequate—or there was nothing.

"Failure," said her father in that hateful calm voice, tinged with insidious fragments of disgust. "Abject failure. You are weak, and do not deserve your last name. You are no von Karma." As Franziska forced herself to watch, her father slowly tore the paper down the middle twice, ripping it into quarters, then letting the pieces fall to the carpet. "Look at me," he commanded, and Franziska obeyed, no longer to stop from quivering in fear at what she knew was to come.

For a moment, the little girl swore she could see a sadistic grin cross her father's face as he raised his hand high—but that was foolish to think—and slowly, inexorably, that hand descended.

Franziska's world exploded into a thousand pinpricks of light as the back of Manfred von Karma's hand caught her across the face in a powerful blow that sent her crumbling to the carpeted floor, barely managing to catch herself with her arms from falling prone. Sparks raced across her vision as the entire room blurred, a throbbing pulse of agony with every beat of her racing heart.

The little girl coughed as she pushed herself onto her hands and knees, a loud ringing in her ear—and she could feel a little trickle of hot blood on her cheek, where her father's ring had left its own mark. Though the entire room spun beneath her hands despite her best efforts to will it steady, she fought the urge to collapse and succumb to the dizziness. Through the head-splitting ringing in her ears, Franziska dimly heard that maddeningly calm voice say, "Come, boy, leave her. She will not be dining with us tonight."

The next thing she knew, there was a strong, warm arm and shoulder beneath her body, supporting her. There was no transition… the arm was just there, raising, helping her to slowly climb to her knees… "Boy, I said _leave her!_ The weak are not worth your trouble! Are you listening to me?"

Yet there was no reply, only the warmth and strength of that arm that Franziska clung to as the world swam back into focus. Blinking, her gaze met the eyes of Miles Edgeworth, her younger brother. He gave the subtlest of smiles as he helped the young girl steady herself, either oblivious to Manfred von Karma's growing ire or choosing to temporarily ignore it. Franziska's eyes grew wide and she tried to shake her head in warning, though it didn't actually come out…

If there were one thing Manfred von Karma tolerated even less than imperfection, it was disobedience. Seeing that she could stand on her own, Miles Edgeworth stood up straight, turning to face the elder prosecutor, whose infinite composure was clearly masking a frightening rage beneath. Franziska wanted to protest, to shield her little brother from the impending catastrophe, but knew that there was nothing she could do, even if she had the strength.

Von Karma's wooden cane was little more than a prop, and he would often eschew its use while not in public. However, it was nevertheless with him… and Miles Edgeworth stood straight and calm as the cane swept through the air to catch him on the side of his head. Miles staggered, his legs bending beneath him—and then a second strike knocked him to the floor, where he lay motionless for a few terrifying seconds before stirring weakly.

Enraged, Manfred von Karma strode to the dining table, and swept the plates and food off the wooden piece of furniture with his cane, a thunderous crash echoing through the hallways of the von Karma estate. "Neither of you two failures may dine with me tonight—or at all, until you prove to me your worth," he hissed, before calling to the servants to come clean the mess up and feed the food to the dogs. With that, Franziska's father stalked off, leaving the two children behind.

There was no transition—a rather jarring sensation, to be sure—and Franziska suddenly found herself sitting at the kitchen table opposite Miles, whose face was bruised and swollen from her father's cane. She squeezed the excess water out of a washcloth before taking it and cleaning the dry blood off his forehead and cheek.

"Fool…" she spat out in white-hot anger, even as she cleaned and dressed the wounds he'd received for daring to help her up, ignoring the own small cut and bruise on her own face. The older sister should always care for the younger, more foolish brother first, of course. "You… you should _know better_, Miles…" was all she said in that trembling fury.

The room spun again, and Franziska found herself alone in a room, with no Papa, no Miles. It was a large room, filled with books and reference manuals, but otherwise bare, devoid of any personality—no pictures or ornamentation on the walls of any sort other than the eternally burning fireplace opposite the large, barren desk in the center of the room.

Franziska recognized it as her father's private study. She had only been in it a few times, she knew… it was surprising how vivid and alive it seemed, even then. As she walked gingerly through the empty room, cold and frigid despite the crackling fire, Franziska caught a glimpse of herself in the window's reflection. She was an adult, a grown woman…

…that made no sense. She had not seen her father for three years, and had not returned to their ancestral estate for even longer. Franziska stood in a place she had rarely seen, in a time when she'd never been there… it was jarring and disorienting, but somehow felt right.

_A memory…? No…_

The young woman noticed a lone picture on her father's desk that she hadn't remembered ever being there, and walked over, picking it up and examining it. It was a faded photograph in a dark black frame of two people… one, dressed in a tuxedo, was undoubtedly her father, though far in the days of his youth. The other figure was female, in a pure white wedding dress.

_Mother…_

Though Franziska could recognize every detail of her father's face in the photograph, her mother's head was blurry and out of focus, and she could barely make out the lines of what would have been a human face. The young woman had long blue-gray hair, identical to her daughter's in color if not style or length. Though she couldn't see any details, Franziska thought that she seemed… sad, somehow. Manfred von Karma certainly didn't seem happy even as a young man on his wedding day, but dour and serious as usual.

Franziska couldn't remember what her mother had looked like. This picture… it was dim and foggy, but she thought she remembered her sister taking it with her when she went off to study at University. She hadn't talked to her sister in many, many years.

"She was weak," came a soft, bass rumble from behind her. Startled, Franziska turned around quickly, the picture flying from her fingers and falling to the floor, clattering across the hard wood to rest at the black boots of her father, who she hadn't heard enter. It was almost as if he had just materialized behind her, a dark, cruel grin on his face as he picked up the black picture frame, almost casually.

"A weak woman who tried to interfere with my plans. She sought to shield our first daughter from me, conspiring to hold her back from the greatness she was heir to as a von Karma. I could not risk the same thing twice… so after she served her purpose, I cast her aside—she would not interfere with my shaping a true successor." To punctuate his words, Manfred von Karma flung the picture-frame into the fireplace, where the paper shriveled and twisted faster than what Franziska thought was normal.

As the picture burned and died, Franziska thought she saw long blonde hair on the figure that was now standing where her mother had been.

Manfred von Karma took a step towards the young prodigy, who reflexively stepped away. "And now what do I see? My own flesh and blood succumbing to the same temptations. Falling for a weak, insignificant woman who will only taint the bloodline with imperfection. It's disgusting." As he spoke, that same diabolical grin never left his face.

"F-falling for?" stammered the young woman, every step backward matched by her father stepping forward. "I… I don't know what…"

Her father cut her off. "Spare me, child. I did not raise a successor to be an idiot. But then again, I have apparently not raised a very good successor, have I? Look at you. Pathetic. An imperfect failure. Not only were you bested by that bumbling idiot Wright… but now another loss to that buffoon of a defense attorney here in Germany. In your _homeland_. You're pathetic, girl. You are not worthy of being called a von Karma."

Franziska found herself against the wall of the study, with no more room to back up. "I… I _am _a von Karma… but… the defendants… they were innocent, Pap—"

With a roar, Manfred von Karma jabbed out with the butt of his wooden cane, striking Franziska in the shoulder, directly where she'd been shot not half a year before. The blue-haired girl cried out in pain, clutching at her old wound, sinking to the floor where she lay, trembling in terror of that nefarious grin and torturously deep voice. "**YOU ARE A PROSECUTOR!**" howled her father, a dark rage surrounding him. "_You_ decide who is guilty and who is innocent! You _are the law_!"

He struck her in the shoulder once more, and Franziska cried out in pain once more. "_Do you understand me, child?!_ If the suspect is innocent, you do not put him in the defendant's chair. Whomever _is_ in the defendant's seat, though… is guilty. You _will_ prove him guilty, whatever it takes. _That_ is perfection. That is what it means to be a von Karma, girl."

Franziska's face flushed as she attempted an angry glare. "You… that… is not… how it works," she bit out every word. "That is _not_ how it should be!" She shook her head intensely, dredging up courage that she didn't really feel to continue speaking. "If… if that's what it means to be a von Karma, then…"

Manfred looked almost amused in that diabolical smirk. "Then you don't want to be one?" He struck her shoulder once more, eliciting a gasp of agony from the girl. Her shoulder felt… hot, and wet. Franziska looked over to see a large red stain spreading, soaking through her white blouse… she grabbed at the gunshot wound, trying to stem the flow of blood, but it seeped through her fingers, a bubbling hole.

Even as she tried to stem the tide, she saw a similar red stain start to spread across her father's shoulder, though Manfred von Karma didn't seem to pay it any attention. "Yes…" he hissed malevolently. "Which is it, child? Are you a von Karma… or aren't you? A flawed, imperfect, weak heir to the greatest of bloodlines… or nothing at all?"

"After all, girl, the sins of the father… are the sins of the son." Her father's teeth bared in a chillingly hateful grin, the grin of a predator about to pounce on its prey. "Or the daughter. This wound is just one of the things we share… you and I. You do not _deserve_ your name. You should let the weak ones falter and discard them… toss them away after they have served their purpose."

His cane impacted her wounded shoulder once more, a pain so intense and dreadful that Franziska thought she would die from the agony alone. "Which is it? You are… a prosecutor. You are a von Karma. Toss that girl to the side… or are you not my daughter? Are you just another pathetic wretch…?" With a maniacal laugh, Manfred von Karma slammed the butt of his cane into her shoulder yet again—

—Franziska's eyes snapped open as she gasped, a strong, sharp intake of air.

It was dark, she was lying in her bed in her small apartment, alone. _A nightmare…? Just a bad dream…?_ Her shoulder throbbed in pain, a particularly vivid pain that was as bad as any Franziska could remember after the actual injury. Franziska could feel her heart racing, her chest rising and falling quickly as she gasped for breath, and beads of cold sweat dotting her forehead.

The prodigy slowly sat up in her bed as she tried to compose herself. She hadn't had a nightmare like that about her father in… well, in a very long time. It had seemed so vivid and real, though… like a memory, even though that could have never actually taken place. Franziska grabbed her shoulder with her left hand, gently squeezing and massaging the tender skin, trying to rub the pain away.

Franziska shook her head, trying to calm her jumpy nerves. Manfred was long… long gone, and he would not be coming back. It was foolish to dream about his presence like that, merely the work of an overactive mind, nothing more.

There was suddenly a chill in the room despite it being late July, a deep cold that bled through Franziska's skin and froze her to the bone. Outside, she could hear the wind pick up for a moment, the nearby oak tree outside her apartment's rear window brushing its branches against the building's rooftop. One... two-three. One… two-three. It was a frighteningly familiar rhythm, of a man walking with a cane.

For a brief moment, Franziska felt that she was no longer alone in her room. Her heart racing, she shook her head vehemently. It was a trick of the mind, the last remnants of the shadow of her father on her psyche. Ghosts were irrational, they had been proven to not exist. This was… this was _foolish_.

Still, there was a presence in the room that she hadn't felt in three years, and knew almost too well. The specter of Manfred von Karma loomed nearby, silent and invisible—but undeniably there.

Franziska took a deep breath, shivering despite what she consciously knew to be the intense Hamburg summer heat. _Which is it, he'd asked me. Am I a von Karma? Am I not…?_

"You always… saw things in such absolutes, Papa," she knew it was foolish and she was talking to the empty midnight air, but Franziska spoke out loud. "Perfect, adequate… imperfect, shameful. There was black and there was white… guilty and innocent. I… I don't know if I… I believe that anymore."

Her voice picked up, a brief flash of passion shooting through her body. "I am a Prosecutor. I am a prodigy, the youngest ever to pass the bar exam and begin practicing. I _am_ a von Karma. I am… I am my father's daughter. These are facts, cold, true facts that cannot be disputed."

The young legal prodigy shook her head, raising her voice just a bit as she clenched a slender hand into a fist. "I am all of those, Papa. To deny that would be… it would be _foolish_. But," her eyes flashed with intensity, glaring at nothing in particular, "that is not _all_ I am. For my entire life, that was what I defined myself as—Manfred von Karma's daughter, the legal prodigy, the heir to von Karma perfection. But… I am more. I don't have to define myself in terms of _you_ anymore. I am Franziska."

"Who… who are you to say how I define me? Shouldn't a father wish the best for his child? Isn't a parent supposed to want greater things for his or her progeny than they ever attained themselves?" Franziska closed her eyes, anger and frustration building up inside her that she had let dormant for eighteen years. "You never wanted that for me… or Miles. You wanted a carbon-copy successor, or someone who was not as good. So that you would be the most perfect that had ever lived. Manfred von Karma—nobody would ever surpass him."

She dropped her voice to a whisper, though it was no less intense or impassioned. "You know what, Papa? I _will_ be better than you. Miles _will _be better than you. And we will do it without your deceit and trickery… on our own."

Franziska felt a sudden lump in her throat and swallowed. "You told Miles to leave me behind, that I wasn't worth his time. That the weak should be discarded and tossed aside and forgotten until they had proven themselves. Miles disobeyed, and you punished him."

"But… Miles was right. You are…" Franziska shook her head. He was gone, there was no present tense. "You… were… wrong, Papa." She managed to force out despite herself, her heart pounding. "All you wanted of me was a successor, an heir to the von Karma name. You never cared about anything else, as long as I gave you that."

"She… that woman who might be weak but… but accepts that and wants to grow… she… needs _me_. She doesn't need a successor, or an heir, or a Prosecutor, or a _von Karma_. She needs… she needs Franziska."

_She could be lying. She's weak, what if she was just saying that to appease your fears? Such a foolish child._

The young woman shook her head again, startled at how much that inner voice sounded exactly like her father. "No… she wasn't. I… I don't know how I know, and it doesn't make sense, but… I _know_. It isn't rational, it isn't logical, but it makes sense and somehow I know it's right."

"You were wrong, Papa," she said softly, quietly, to the air around her.

There was silence.

For once, this was _actual_ silence, not heavy and foreboding and intimidating. The thick presence that had been choking, filling the room… was gone. The heavy specter of her father that terrified the young child inside the prodigy—it felt light, nebulous. Franziska von Karma exhaled, a long, deep breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding in.

She was thirsty. Slipping her long, bare legs out from under the bedsheets, Franziska slowly opened the door—wincing as it gave a little squeak. However, the blonde woman curled up on the pull-out bed that was normally a couch by day didn't seem to hear it in her sleep. Adrian looked happy, a smile on her face, and Franziska briefly wondered what she was dreaming about. She also wondered why she felt her face suddenly flush, and not in embarrassment or shame.

Walking softly and quietly to the kitchen area, Franziska poured herself a tall glass of filtered water, careful not to make any more sound than was necessary. The water felt cool as she sipped it, and her mouth had been rather dry for some reason… for a foolish conversation with her own imaginary fears, it had left her rather shaken.

Her gaze wandered to the small figure sleeping on her secondary bed. She had been certain that Adrian hadn't been lying to her before… but how? It seemed that everything about that woman was murky and imprecise, irrational, illogical, and frustrating. Rationally, Adrian _could_ have been lying to her, saying meaningless tripe in order to not be pushed away from the woman she had come to rely on. But… though there was no rational explanation for it, Franziska felt sure, almost exactly confident in what the other woman had said. She… actually _trusted_ Adrian, realized the young German woman with a small bit of surprise.

Irrational, illogical, and frustrating… and somehow wonderful. Wonderfully imperfect.

Dammit, she was blushing again. _Stop that,_ Franziska chided herself. There was no reason to… no reason to behave like a teenage girl. _Actually, Franziska… you _are_ a_—_Shut up._ _I'm more than that_. Ever since Adrian had come into her life, things had been slightly out of control, with a momentum that even she was powerless to restrain for long. As distracting and frustrating as it was… Franziska found herself almost enjoying it.

Clearly, she was too exhausted to think properly. Finishing her glass of water, Franziska crept back down past where Adrian slept soundly, closing her bedroom door behind her, and sliding back into her bed, closing her eyes and willing herself to sleep—the thought that she might have another nightmare never even crossed her mind. For some reason, it just seemed ludicrous, out of the question.

It wasn't until sleep was just about to claim her that she remembered something that her father had said in the dream… about her and Adrian… something that rang oddly true. Before she could remember what it had been, though, the sandman had brushed her eyes, sending her into a quiet, restful, sleep.


	7. Distractions

**Follow the Fool**

_Seven_

The fact that she had no idea where she was didn't disturb Adrian Andrews in the least. She could certainly infer much from the surroundings. Outside the thin white curtains that fluttered in a gentle breeze, the blonde American could see a stretch of thin, pearl-white sand that stretched as far as her eyes could perceive to either side—pure white, gently glowing in the dying light of the setting sun. Past that, there was an endless, vast expanse of water, the fiery orange light of the sunset glittering off the gently rolling, crystal-blue waves in a very storybook manner.

That, plus the blazing hot weather (though tempered by a cooling sea breeze that smelled of salt and memory) told Adrian that she was, in fact, somewhere tropical—though the skyline she could make out bordering the beach looked an awful lot like Hamburg, Germany… and there weren't any beaches like this anywhere _near_ Hamburg… but then, that knowledge was firmly pushed to the very back of her mind where she didn't let it worry her at all.

More specifically, though, she was in a hotel room, a large (if not extravagantly so) room with all the facilities one would expect out of a modern, up-to-date establishment. The entire room felt fuzzy and muted like it was in watercolor except for the vibrant beauty out the open sliding-door window, and the large king-sized bed Adrian was currently sprawled across in a most undignified manner.

Adrian sighed contently, giving a little yawn and stretching, the white button-down shirt she was wearing completely unbuttoned giving a little flutter as the sea breeze caught it. She sank back down onto the bed, resting her head in the lap of the other figure in the room, a young blue-haired woman who was sitting up in the bed, clad in a simple black sleeveless shirt—her legs concealed under the bed covers—calmly perusing a legal brief. Franziska von Karma gave no outward indication that she was even aware of the other woman's presence, though she did idly start playing with a few stray strands of Adrian's hair that had fallen by her slender free hand.

The blonde woman smiled warmly at nothing in particular, feeling the ever-so-slight sensations of her hair being played with send subtle golden tingles up and down her spine. She could feel those warm final rays of the setting sun caress the bare skin of her legs, and let herself sink into the bed, enjoying every last sensation. Slowly and almost subconsciously, Adrian started running the back of her hand up and down her companion's legs, only a thin layer of blankets between their skin… she smiled, watching the dying embers of the sunset glint off the thin gold band encircling her ring finger.

Franziska made a soft, barely noticeable noise deep in the back of her throat, a sort of "Mmf" sound that was her only reaction as her dark eyes continued to dart back and forth rapidly, scanning the multi-page legal document. She briefly stopped playing with Adrian's long hair to turn the page, a matching ring glinting in the sunlight as she did so. "How can a lawyer write a fifty-page document and call it a 'brief,'" asked Adrian teasingly, a laugh in her voice if not her body.

Without averting her eyes from her work or missing a beat, Franziska responded, "You've seen my bookshelves in my office, correct?" The American woman made a small affirmative noise, and her partner continued simply, "that's how."

The two lay there for what could have been an hour or thirty seconds, the only measure of time the slow, lazy descent of the sun to the horizon, the only sound the ruffling of paper as Franziska turned through the pages of the document. Adrian shifted positions, turning onto her side and hugging her knees to her chest, still running a slender finger across the rise of her partner's lower body.

"I'm not distracting you, am I?" she said at last, adjusting her glasses with her free hand as she did so.

Franziska looked at her, averting her gaze from her work and arching a blue-gray eyebrow inquisitively. "…a bit," she admitted with a shrug and what might have been the barest hints of a teasing smirk, "…but not excessively."

There was no mistaking Adrian's grin for what it was. "Would you _like_ me to distract you excessively?" Her tone was playful and gentle, oddly familiar, as if she'd said such things in her mind thousands of times before, just… never out loud.

That blue-gray eyebrow remained arched, and Franziska cocked her head to the side just slightly enough to be noticed. "I would _like_ to finish re-reading this brief in peace, Adrian." She gave what sounded like a resigned sigh, closing her dark eyes and setting the document off to the side. "…but I suppose I could allow you to do so," she said at last.

Adrian sat up, feeling the bed bounce beneath her as she shifted, sitting astride the German woman's legs and brushing some golden hair from her face, shaking her head softly. "Oh come on," she said, a mock whine in her voice that certainly was not mirrored in her sparkling eyes. "You enjoy it just as much as I do."

"I… didn't say I didn't," said Franziska, and Adrian could see the little differences in her face that most people would miss that plainly registered a deeply concealed amusement. "Did you ever hear me say that?" As she spoke, she reached out, slender fingers gently plucking the thin glasses from the other woman's face, folding them, and setting them to the side of the bed on top of the discarded legal brief. "You were going to leave them on again and they were going to break," there was the definite hint of a lopsided grin on her face, barely visible but there nonetheless. "Foolish girl…"

Adrian ran a hand through her hair, brushing it out of her face as she leaned in, enfolding the other woman in a warm embrace. "….your fool?" she said in a soft whisper right into Franziska's ear, resting her head on the other girl's shoulder contently, a flood of warmth infusing her entire body.

There was a pause, and Franziska von Karma nodded at last. "My fool."

The blonde woman could feel the warmth of the other woman's cheek on hers as their heads gently turned, her breath hot against her cheek, the soft wetness of her lips just about to brush across her own—

—Adrian Andrews' eyes slid open to the gentle, warming light of morning seeping through the windows that on any other morning would have been energizing and accepted… but today was rather unwelcome.

With a heavy sigh, Adrian sunk deeper into the pull-out bed she'd been sleeping on, eyes closed. Part of her wanted to try and get back to sleep and recapture that moment, but she knew that it was gone, dispersed into the early morning sunlight like a cloud of dust. _Damn…_She pulled the covers up to her neck, trying to wriggle as deep into the mattress as possible, hoping to try and capture that complete warm glow she'd felt in the dream, but to no avail.

She sat up, yawning and brushing some hair from where it had fallen into her face during the night's sleep. Though she couldn't see the clock on the other side of the kitchen counter, it was late-early morning. Franziska was long gone by now… off to work. Adrian sighed again, crossing through the open bedroom door and the immaculately kept bedroom of her host, pulling off her nighttime shirt as she turned the shower on.

The water and steam were hot, rejuvenating as they enveloped her body, but it was an external warmth, and external warmth was certainly not uncommon back in Los Angeles during the summer. Adrian closed her eyes as she ran her fingers through her long golden hair, trying desperately to recapture those last few moments of the dream. It had just been a dream, and she'd _known_ that it had just been a dream… but that warmth had been different. Total, complete, from the center of her being radiating out through muscle, skin, and bone alike.

Come to think of it, Adrian couldn't recall ever feeling that warm, that… _safe_ since… well, ever. She had a good memory, too—it had just been such a completely enveloping feeling.

Adrian almost laughed to herself, looking down at the rivulets of water splashing on the synthetic porcelain bathtub. _I'm such a sap. Stupid… stupid romantic fantasies, that's all. And look how I let it get to me._ It was silly, really. She should really stop thinking about such things. Naturally, though, she wouldn't.

She dressed, her long locks wrapped in one of Franziska's towels to help them dry, trying to purge that silly little dream from her mind, not thinking about the feel of the other woman's skin against her own, the soft whisper of clothing on satin, the heat of her lips…

…Slightly frustrated and realizing that she was blushing despite herself, Adrian was acutely aware of the fact that she was failing to put such thoughts from her mind rather spectacularly. "Welcome back to the real world, Adrian Andrews," she said half under her breath, trying to ground herself firmly in reality. It had been silly, meaningless sap, and she knew it.

Her train of thought was suddenly interrupted by the apartment door opening. She looked up, a bit startled, to see Franziska step through the door carrying a small paper bag in her hands. The young prosecutor saw Adrian and nodded. "Oh. You're up. Good morning, Adrian."

"M-morning," Adrian tried not to stammer, feeling her face grow hot as every little detail from that wonderful dream she'd tried (and failed) to push from her mind came crashing back. "I… I thought you were at work already."

Franziska shook her head, and walked over to the table where the blonde woman sat, placing the paper bag on its top. "I… decided to go in late today, actually. I thought that maybe… you would like to see where I worked. Perhaps it would be more interesting than having obscure local history shoved in your face for yet another day."

Adrian smiled softly. "Hans wasn't that bad. He was a darling, really."

"…perhaps. Anyway, I saw you were still asleep, so I went and… I bought us… I bought breakfast," Franziska said a little bit too hastily, pulling the contents of the paper bag out. As she set a croissant in front of the blonde woman, their hands brushed for the briefest of instants, and then the two reflexively pulled away as sparks stung their skin.

There was silence as the pair looked at each other, and Adrian was _very_ aware of the blush coloring Franziska's cheeks that mirrored her own almost exactly. Their eyes met—and then split, looking everywhere but directly at the other. Adrian could feel her heart start to pick up its pace.

Franziska shook her head, forcing a short, sharp laugh. "Static electricity." Adrian nodded silently as Franziska sat down a bit harder than she would have liked, busying herself by scrutinizing the jam and toast in front of her.

In her dream, neither of them would speak for eternities on end, just lying together in the silence, and it felt so rich and _right_… Adrian quietly nibbled at the croissant Franziska had bought for her, staring at her plate and the surface of the table, refusing to let her eyes wander anywhere near the other woman. She could feel her heart pounding beneath her breast, so hard and fierce she felt it would burst from her chest if not restrained.

Neither of them looked at the other in the heavy, thick silence. It was stifling, almost excruciating, but not for any of the reasons that Adrian would have expected. Last night, Franziska had confessed to having feelings she simply didn't understand—_She's never felt them before_—that for anyone else would have been obviously… well, deep attraction if not outright love. Adrian was not a stupid woman by any stretch of the imagination, and had anyone else said those words, would have pegged the underlying emotion exactly in less than a heartbeat.

Was it so different just because it was Franziska? She had certainly had a unique life… but she was, on some level, human flesh and blood like everyone else. Adrian saw her eating her breakfast out of the corner of her eye, like everyone else did. What made her so different? Why was she second-guessing the admission from the person she wanted to say it most?

The air was heavy, oppressing, and choking. "It's very good," said Adrian at last, haltingly. "Thank you for… for getting it." She didn't look up from her plate.

"Oh. You're… welcome," returned Franziska, in that voice that had so easily and smoothly and _seductively_ whispered in her ear—_her breath was hot on her cheek_—not an hour before. It was the exact same voice, but it felt so different, so jarring. The two of them fell silent once more.

Why? Why was it so different, and excruciatingly stifling? In that watercolor room by the infinite ocean, everything had been _so easy…_ she had felt warm, safe, and light. Here, she felt very much drawn in to the physical space of Adrian Andrews, confined to a fragile, vulnerable body.

There was a part of her that wanted to dismiss everything Franziska had said—the meaning behind those frustrated, passionate words—as fantasy, her assigning depth where there was none. A part that wanted to desperately believe that Franziska did _not_ feel anything of the sort, because that would make everything so easy. If that were the case, then Adrian could watch from the sides and love from afar, like she'd done. It was safe, and it was simple, and she was used to it.

If Franziska's words had meant what she thought they did, though…? _Their hands joined, fingers entwining together in their own little embrace_. No… that… that was dangerous. Extend yourself too far, leave yourself open and honest and true… and you would find yourself at the mercy of the cruel Fates.

If Franziska felt that way… it terrified Adrian to think of what would come. Utterly unknown, unpredictable, and possibly treacherous. In the watercolor room, she had known that the other woman held a massive part of her… but that had been _wonderful_. She had been open and extended and vulnerable, but had never felt so safe and protected in her entire life.

And here the two of them were, eating breakfast together in such an awkward, choking silence that Adrian half wanted to just stand up and scream if only because it wouldn't be silent anymore.

She was not a stupid woman. There was a tension between them, a spark that had been more than just static electricity. Adrian was perfectly aware of how she felt, but the heavy, pendulous quiet might as well have been a neon sign declaring Franziska's reciprocation. Though that nagging part of her refused to stop denying the possibility, Adrian _knew_ how the other woman felt. She was absolutely certain in ways she hadn't even known existed.

Franziska von Karma had feelings for her. She was sure of it.

Adrian had watched for three years, loving from the sidelines as Celeste Inpax lived her life. It had been easy, it had been comfortable, and it had been _safe_.

But it had never… it had never felt like _that_. _Franziska is not Celeste_. _She feels… she _feels _something._ _I… I want it to feel like that. _

The blonde woman forced herself to look up, to look at Franziska, who noticed the motion and lifted her eyes to see what was going on. Those dark eyes that had been the same but so different in that quiet room locked with hers, and Adrian fought the immediate impulse to flinch and look away. She felt flutters in her stomach, and somehow _knew_ that Franziska was feeling the same way.

She also knew that Franziska would never admit it. In the dream, Adrian had found herself daring to take the lead, taking initiative… it had felt right. Franziska would… she wouldn't… Adrian didn't even know if the prosecutor's fierce pride would let her admit what she felt even to herself, let alone anybody else. If either of them was going to make the first move, it… _does it have to be me?_

It would be so easy to not do it. To convince oneself that it was just a trick of the mind and fall into the silent, distant love she was used to. Extending herself like that was horrifying, but Adrian also felt a sickening lump in her stomach at the thought of just letting that warmth and safety slip away.

Adrian realized that _she_ had to make a choice. Either way she chose, there could be pain and heartbreak, or there could be wonderful warmth and safety… either way. There was no safe choice. There was no right choice. There was only _her_ choice.

The eye contact was like a sizzling live wire—though you wanted to break it, your body wouldn't let you let go. Slowly, despite herself, Adrian smiled silently across the table at the prodigy with the sea-gray hair, a faint smile that was felt more than seen.

It might have been her imagination, but she thought she saw the corners of Franziska's mouth turn up in an incredibly slight, minute way. And then, so perfectly timed it might as well have been rehearsed, they both suddenly broke the contact, looking anywhere but at the other.

"So…" began Franziska, a slight waver in her voice that was quickly masked as she continued to speak, "…to the Prosecutor's Office, then?"

Adrian nodded bashfully, still consumed in her own thoughts and realizations. "…right. Okay." Neither one of them spoke as they cleaned up their breakfast and left the apartment, nor did they speak on the agonizingly long drive to the tall building that housed the legal system of one of the biggest cities in Europe.

--

Franziska didn't know what had been running through her head when she'd come up with this _absolutely brilliant_ plan, but she couldn't imagine for a single moment that it would be anything even remotely related to logic or reason. _Oh yes. You're distracted by her to the point where you cannot work. The obvious solution, then, is to bring her to your workplace where she will be right in front of you. Truly your best idea in ages, Franziska._

The other woman had pushed one of the two chairs normally reserved for more official visitors and clients to the side of the room where she'd no longer be blocking Franziska's access to her massive bookshelf. Franziska hadn't told her that she didn't really _need_ to get the bookshelf unless she was dealing with particularly obscure law—and certainly not when she was being asked to perform a simple task that an adding machine could do just as effectively.

In fact, they'd barely said more than a few words to each other all day, ever since breakfast. Franziska's eyes kept flicking up over her desk in the briefest of glances at the other woman before she caught herself and forced her gaze back to the pile of papers on her desk… at least for a minute or so. _Brilliant idea, that._ Thankfully, the "already done" stack was dwarfing the "yet to do" stack, though they still didn't seem to be changing size all that quickly.

Over the week that Adrian had been here in Hamburg as Franziska's guest, things had… changed. The differences had started small and innocuous—an odd feeling of ease and comfort that could have meant anything at all, really—but had slowly grown in size and pace. The pebbles sliding down the hill had started an avalanche. Franziska, heir to the von Karma legacy, who had seen countless scenes of death and destruction and confronted the true scum of the world without blinking an eye, felt butterflies fluttering around in her stomach at the mere sight of a shy blonde American woman.

The whirlwind had been building and building, gathering more and more momentum until it threatened to consume her entirely. Franziska knew she could not ignore it and could not escape it, so she opted to confront it instead. If there were any single place on the entire planet where Franziska von Karma was absolutely _certain_ she was in complete and utter control, it was here. Her office, the Prosecutor's Department… she was in command, firm and unyielding. It was her altar, her temple—if she were not in control here, she would not be in control _anywhere_.

So, unsurprisingly, it was particularly vexing to the young prosecutor that she could not concentrate here, of all places. She had tried to confront the thundering momentum of the whirlwind, and she had failed. Franziska refused to admit defeat, though—her cheeks hot, she poured every ounce of her normally-iron will into forcing her attention and gaze down to the numbers and writing on her desk. The prodigy would get this done if it killed her.

"Franziska…"

She looked up in an instant, her concentration shattered at the sound of her name. It had been soft, quieter than even a whisper—barely more than a breath. In her ears, though, it had been thunderously loud. Franziska felt her cheeks grow hot, though attributed it to shame at not being able to concentrate. Over in her chair, she saw Adrian smiling softly, eyes closed behind her glasses, looking up at the ceiling.

"Yes? What is it?" said the prodigy at last.

Startled out of her reverie, Adrian jumped a bit in shock, reflexively adjusting her glasses (her spare pair, that she'd thankfully had on her to replace the pair Franziska had stepped on the previous afternoon). "I-I'm sorry… what did you say?" She asked, smiling sheepishly, looking down at the floor. "Did you say something?"

Franziska arched an eyebrow, tilting her head to the side. "You… said my name just now."

The effect on the other woman was rather striking. Adrian blushed fiercely, looking at the floor even more intensely. "N-no…! No, I didn't say anything like that at all," she denied, looking up and giving what was obviously a forced smile, her face still dark red. "I… I guess I dozed off, but… I didn't say your name."

Despite Adrian's denials, the young gray-haired woman was absolutely positive that she had, in fact, heard correctly… yet she refused to push the matter. "All right," said Franziska, frowning to herself at her heart's sudden, inexplicable decision to start pounding furiously. With that, she returned her attention to the payroll calculations, trying not to think about anything at all other than Sergeant Gudmund's salary for the moment…

"I'm not… distracting you, am I?" Adrian's voice was soft, hesitant, yet almost… _dreamy_. Franziska looked up and sighed to herself, cupping her chin in her hand and resting her elbow on the hard wood of her desk.

"…I only have thirteen more payroll calculations to go through, Adrian. You don't need to concern yourself with it," she said, sighing again.

The blonde woman cocked her head to the side, the slightest hint of a teasing smile on her face. "How many did you have left when we got here, though?"

Franziska paused, looking to the side hesitantly before replying. "…seventeen," she admitted. "Yes, you are distracting me, Adrian. However, you are not distracting me…" she paused, searching for the right word, settling on "…excessively."

She'd intended her words to be reassuring and soothing. If anything, though, they seemed to have the opposite reaction—Adrian looked shocked, the heavy blush returning to her cheeks, looking very much like a doe wide-eyed before the oncoming headlights. "O-oh," she managed, pressing a hand to her breastbone. "Th-that's… that's good, Franziska… I'm… I'm glad."

Adrian stood up suddenly, quickly. "I… I have to use the washroom, Franziska. Could… you tell me where it is?"

"Left out of the office, down the stairs, third door on your right—that takes you to a little lobby. The ladies' room is at the end of the second hallway. I can… show you, if you'd like."

The other woman shook her head quickly. "No, I'm sure… I'm sure I can find it on my own. Don't worry!" With that, she practically ran out of the room, leaving a rather confused and stunned Franziska behind.

What was wrong with her? When she'd arrived in Hamburg, Adrian had still been the same shy, insecure person at heart—though she'd seemed calm, accepting of that, and from that happy and cheerful, excitable even. Something had changed in the path of the whirlwind, though, and now the American woman was acting much like she had four months ago…

No, that wasn't quite right, Franziska corrected herself. There was definitely a marked change from the Adrian she had last seen in the Los Angeles Detention Center to the Adrian that had just practically fled her office… yes, she was jumpy, stammering over her words and the like, but… it was different. She reminded Franziska of a tea kettle at boiling point…

Her hand still stung from the shock of static electricity over breakfast, which was strange. It hadn't been a particularly strong shock, and there was no mark on her hand, but for some reason Franziska was perfectly and acutely aware of the exact spot where their hands had touched. …strange.

Franziska scowled, for her heart had started to race again. She wished it would stop doing that. The beautiful prodigy looked down at the small stack of thirteen papers filled with names and numbers, numbers that she had to ensure added up to equal the correct number. Franziska was logical, she was good with numbers.

If she hurried, Franziska estimated that she could do these thirteen in just over six minutes. Putting every last bit of her focus into this one last task, she set her pen to paper, making quick calculations, her writing hurried but still impeccable as always. Twelve left… then ten… then seven, then three, then two… then one more…

…she was done. It had taken her just under eight minutes, though—she'd missed her deadline, Franziska realized with a silent frown. Disappointing, but then again she hadn't expected Patrolman Alders to have so many individual wage corrections that she'd been forced to double-check in order to ensure accuracy.

Adrian still wasn't back, and though the little sinking feeling deep beneath her breast hadn't yet blossomed into full-blown worry, Franziska was slightly concerned. The other woman was capable, certainly able to follow simple directions to get to the restroom. Yet she had seemed… not in her right mind, and while Franziska didn't think she'd go do anything particularly foolhardy, it couldn't really hurt to check.

Making sure the now-single stack of papers was neatly in order, Franziska got up from her desk, turned left out of her office, walked down the stairs, and turned the handle, pushing the third door on the right in to find the little lobby she'd directed Adrian to. The other woman was sitting on the carpeted floor to the side of the door, kneels pulled to her chest.

The blonde woman looked up at Franziska, smiling softly. "Hi, Franziska. Don't worry, I found my way."

Letting the door close behind her, the young attorney offered her companion her hand, helping her stand on her feet. The two of them held that grip for a second more than what would have been 'proper' before releasing, and Franziska felt that jolt that she knew was most definitely not static electricity this time around. Adrian sighed, leaning gently against the door, running a hand through her long hair, not meeting Franziska's calm gaze.

"Adrian, is… is something the matter?" Her voice was calm as it usually was, but there was a warmth in it that Franziska herself was surprised by.

"No," Adrian shook her head before pausing and amending her statement, "Well… yes. But… it's… nothing's the _matter_, not like… not like you'd think, anyway." She laughed softly to herself, taking her glasses off and rubbing her eyes briefly. "It… it sounds so stupid out loud. It doesn't make any sense."

Franziska crossed her arms in front of her chest, tilting her head to the side inquisitively. "I'm inclined to agree. At least, I would be if I had any idea what you were referring to. What is it, Adrian?"

She could see the hints of a blush forming below Adrian's kind, gentle eyes, though it was a far cry from the dark red flush she'd worn earlier in Franziska's office. Adrian laughed again. "I… Franziska, when… when _you_ have to make a choice, how do you make it? What's your secret?" For the first time in what seemed like all day, Adrian looked directly at the German girl, a hopeful expression on her face.

The question didn't require much thought, for making weighty decisions was part of her daily routine. "Simple. I weigh each choice on its logical and practical benefits and drawbacks. It often becomes… easy… to distill most decisions down to that, if you have practice."

Adrian smiled almost wistfully, closing her eyes and letting a silent chuckle shake her body. "Now… how about we throw all logic, reason, practicality… just toss it out the window? How would you do that, then?"

Franziska paused, momentarily startled. "Then, that would only leave…" She stayed silent for a few moments, thinking to herself. "…in the complete absence of rationality or logic? I suppose then I would just choose what I felt was the most… right. Whichever felt like the best choice—though I can't see any real situation where logic and reason wouldn't be a factor."

"You'd be surprised," said Adrian with that same half-smile on her face. "I… was afraid you'd say that, and that doesn't make any sense either. I should be _glad_ to hear you say that… I should. And… I guess I am, really." Adrian started to rub her temples idly, shaking her head from side to side.

Feeling herself start to get annoyed, Franziska arched an eyebrow. "Are you going to tell me what this is about, Adrian? Or are you going to simply keep babbling foolish nonsense like a foolishly foolish fool?"

Adrian's voice was soft but clear. "…_your_ fool?"

She looked at Franziska with that same sad smile on her face, though there was something in those deep, dark eyes of her that caused every muscle in the young prodigy's body to suddenly tense up. There was a desperation in that simple gaze… a longing, a desire, a _need_ so powerful that it made Franziska's entire body shiver. That single look told Franziska what a week of conversation had failed to do.

"I… wh-what… and…" stammered the young lawyer, finding every single word in her extensive vocabulary wiped from her mind in an instant. Franziska suddenly found it hard to breathe, feeling her face grow hotter than ever before, past the point where even she could make an excuse for it. "I… what are you… _my _fool? You… you aren't making any sense."

Franziska had tried to fight the whirlwind, and now she knew without a doubt that she had lost. Still, her pride refused to just… submit.

If Adrian had seen Franziska's reaction to that single look—and it was almost impossible to have missed it—she gave no indication that anything had changed. "I… nevermind… that was silly." She laughed again, a pensive tone in her voice. "Has something ever seemed impossibly easy and impossibly hard at the same time to you before? I mean… it could just slip out. But… it… I never could have imagined that it would be this hard."

Adrian leaned heavily against the door to the small lobby, sighing once before speaking. "I… Franziska, I… oh my God… why is it this hard to say?" For once, the blush on Franziska's face eclipsed that on Adrian's. "Franziska, I keep thinking, and I keep asking myself question after question and I keep… coming back to the same thing." She took a deep breath, looking the other woman directly in the eye. "Franziska… I… l—"

There was a thunderous crash that would have made both women jump, startled out of the intense moment… if it hadn't come from the powerful, sudden opening of the door that Adrian had been leaning against, sending her stumbling forward, crashing first into Franziska and then into the wall of the room.

Franziska made a slight yelp at the collision, eyes closing reflexively—and opened them to find Adrian's face not two inches from hers, a deep flush mirroring Franziska's own, eyes wide… the two of them were pressed up against the wall thanks to inertia, in what might very well have been an embrace at any other moment in time. Neither of them looked away, focused on the other… "O-oh…" said Adrian quietly, under her breath, barely a whisper.

So close… they were so close together… their eyes locked on one another, the gentle warm puff of each others' breath… it would be so easy just to lean in, lean ever so slightly closer… without realizing it, they were leaning in ever closer, slowly drawing together…

"Oh! I'm… not interrupting anything, am I?"

Startled, Adrian and Franziska quickly pushed away from each other, the gaze that had been only for the other now fixed on the man who had entered the room with such a… boisterous entrance. Gunther Hertz stood there, stroking the stubble of his beard with an expression on his face that suggested he found everything rather hilarious. "Oh… I, uh… _was_ interrupting something. Wasn't I?"

Whip or no whip, if the phrase 'if looks could kill' had suddenly become reality, Gunther would have been a smoking stain on the carpet, so potent was Franziska's glare. "_What. Are. You. Doing. Here?!_" she snapped, every word precisely cold, enraged, and venomous. Her hands immediately went for her whip before realizing that it was still in her office—had Adrian not been standing right there, she might well have attempted to throttle him.

Gunther paused, flashing a lopsided grin and tossing his ponytail over his shoulder. "Perhaps legal machines like your self are unfamiliar with the concept, Miss von Karma, but us _mere mortals_ have biological needs. The men's room is right over there. Surely, such a finely honed mind like yours can piece that one together?" He laughed bawdily, switching to English. "My deepest and most arduous apologies to you two lovely ladies for interrupting whatever _liaisons_ might have been occurring… though perhaps it might be wiser to hold them in a more private area than the public restroom lobby, hmm?"

Still blushing fiercely, Adrian gently put a hand on Franziska's shoulder, as if sensing the other woman's desire to tear the defense attorney limb from limb with her bare hands. "If... you were just going to the bathroom…" she paused, a rather confused look on her face, "Why… why make such a… _forceful_ appearance?"

"Oh, my lovely rubber-tree, I _am_ glad you noticed. I have always believed… that every entrance should be as dramatic and noticeable as any that have come before it!" he pointed dramatically at the two to punctuate his statement. "You never know _who_ could be on the other side of the door! Perhaps the Pope! And then, he would be _quite_ impressed, wouldn't he?!"

Though she appeared to have her more… violent emotions in check, the white-hot rage had not left Franziska's voice. "Shouldn't you be pestering the police on one of your foolishly foolish little cases, Gunther Hertz? Isn't there someplace _else_ you should be?"

Gunther grinned, shaking his head from side to side and holding his arms out wide. "Nope," he admitted, idly stroking the stubble on his chin. "As a matter of fact… I was _hoping_ to see you, O Lovely Maiden of the Prosecution Stand. I was wondering if you would be gracing us with your presence tomorrow night…"

"…tomorrow night?" Adrian asked as Franziska simultaneously and immediately declared, "absolutely not!"

The male attorney frowned, smoothing the top of his light blond hair and turning to Adrian. "Tomorrow night, my fluorescent carnation, is the annual mid-summer's Policeman's Ball. Quite the event, really—live band, almost everybody from the Police Department and Prosecutors' Office invited! Truly a smash!" he chuckled heartily, dusting some dirt from his vest.

Adrian looked even more puzzled than before. "You just said that it's only for Police and Prosecutors, didn't you?"

Gunther waggled his blond eyebrows in a rather disturbing fashion. "Yes."

"…and you're a defense attorney, right?"

"Also yes!" chuckled the flamboyant man, giving a slight golf-clap in front of his face.

"So, you aren't exactly invited, are you?"

"Oh, of course not!" Gunther clapped again, chuckling as he did so. "Quite the deductive reasoning, my chamomile gumball! Keep working at it, and you might just give the little kitten herself a run for her money someday!" Franziska found herself _really_ wishing she hadn't left her whip in her office. He held a finger up in front of his face, wagging it from side to side. "No, I am not invited. However, I've never let a silly thing like permission stop me before!"

Franziska's eyes slitted, her voice even and deadly. "We will not be attending your frivolous, foolish event, Gunther Hertz. Go waste someone else's time."

Her companion shrugged softly, looking at Franziska and tilting her head to the side, her long blonde hair cascading over her back. "I don't know, it sounds kind of… fun, doesn't it, Franziska?" The corners of her mouth turned upwards in a hesitant but visible smile.

The prosecutor's tone of voice softened ever so slightly—and only _slightly_—as she turned to the American woman, a scowl on her face. "It is foolish, and extravagant, and a waste of time. A foolishly foolish event for foolish fools to foolishly consort with other fools in a night of alcohol-driven tomfoolery."

Gunther laughed again, deep and loudly. "Precisely the point, my dear Prosecutor! Though… I do admit that last year's was rather _dull_… though being caught, thrown out, and spending the night sleeping in my car certainly put a damper on things."

"You are a fool who learns nothing from his many foolish mistakes, Gunther Hertz," snarled Franziska, once more itching for the familiar feel of her whip in her hands. "You still plan to return, even after last year's debacle?"

Opposite her, the flashy defense attorney clucked his tongue. "Oh, but I _have_ learned from my mistakes, Miss Prosecutor. For example…" he tossed his cape over his shoulder dramatically. "I will _not_ make my grand entrance through the front door and attempt to bluff my way past the Master of Ceremonies and the ushers this year! That is a mistake I have _certainly_ learned from!"

"I certainly hope to see the two of you there," he grinned again. "But alas, I must take my leave of you! There are places to go and people to see! …in all likelihood," he admitted, "though I don't know where or who they will be, precisely! I am off!" With that, he left with as much of a grand flourish as he had arrived, leaving the two women alone in the small lobby.


	8. Dresses

**Follow the Fool**

_Eight_

"Absolutely not," the young prodigy shook her head. "I refuse to take part in such a foolish, extravagant waste of time." Franziska crossed her arms in front of her chest, clearly riled up by the appearance of the extremely extroverted defense attorney. "They're dull wastes of one's night."

Adrian arched a blonde eyebrow, peering over her glasses at the German woman. "Really? So you had something planned for us tomorrow night, then?" Franziska didn't answer, though her frown deepened. "…I didn't think so," said the blonde woman with a teasing smile. "Besides, have you ever been to one of them? It might… it might be fun," she said with a shrug.

A brief flicker of thoughtfulness passed over Franziska's features, but it was quickly concealed by the irritated scowl she'd worn ever since Gunther Hertz had interrupted a rather… personal moment that neither of them seemed in a particular hurry to return to, whether out of embarrassment or anxiety or whatever the case. "It will be full of people like _him,_" she said that last word like a particularly vulgar obscenity, "who go simply to drink and behave like Neanderthalic fools. That is not what I call _fun_, Adrian."

The other woman shrugged again, that half-sheepish-half-hopeful smile still on her face. "It's not a crime to relax once in a while, Franziska." That smile shifted slightly, becoming an affectionately teasing lopsided smirk. "You can't dance, can you?"

Franziska scowled indignantly, her blue-gray hair flopping from side to side as she shook her head yet again. "Of _course_ I can dance. I can dance absolutely _perfectly_. I just…" she paused, searching for the right words, "…choose not to. It is undignified, ungainly, and makes one look like an utter fool."

Adrian sighed to herself briefly, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose with one slender finger. "Franziska…" there was a subdued if intense warmth in the tone of her voice that brought a faint blush back to the young prosecutor's cheeks in recollection of the conversation not ten minutes prior. "Sometimes… if someone cares for another person, they might…" she paused briefly before continuing, "…do something that the other person really wanted to do, even if they didn't."

"Hmph." Franziska's eyes narrowed in annoyance, though it was not directed specifically at the other woman. "You… care for me, right?" The blush was unmistakable, contrasting the sharp tone of her voice rather remarkably. Upon Adrian's silent affirmative nod, Franziska continued, "then, even though you may want to attend this frivolous event, you should respect my wish to stay as far from it as possible," she shrugged.

"That—that's not what I meant, and you know it," Adrian frowned slightly, looking down at the floor.

Arching a blue-gray eyebrow, Franziska asked, "oh, is that so? I see. As long as we're doing what _you_ want to do, everything is fine. But the moment I apply the same logic against your choice, it isn't how you meant it. In what far-off universe is that fair, Adrian?"

Though she initially started a wordless protest, Adrian cut it off quickly, sinking back and shrinking into herself, continuing to hold her staring contest with the carpeted floor of the washroom lobby. "No… you're right, Franziska. That _isn't_ fair. If you don't want to go, we don't have to go." The blonde woman looked up, giving a wistful little smile. "I just thought it would be… fun. The two of us could have a good time together, and we don't have anything else planned, right? But, if you don't want to, then I'm sure we can think of something else." She smiled again, a bit warmer than the last.

Franziska was silent for a few long heartbeats, the scowl on her face fading into a thoughtful, pensive expression. At long last, she said, slightly hesitantly, "…you really wanted to go, didn't you?"

The other woman laughed half-heartedly. "No, it's okay, really. It might have been fun, just the two of us—but it was just a silly thought. Don't worry about it…" Adrian paused as if realizing something, and then sighed heavily. "Besides, it's not like I could _actually_ go."

"Why not?" Franziska cocked her head to the side inquisitively.

Adrian ran a hand through her hair absentmindedly, an embarrassed smile on her face. "It certainly sounded like a formal event to me. And… I didn't bring any formal wear to Germany," she chuckled softly, "because I never thought I'd need it. I literally wouldn't have anything to wear."

The prodigy's eyes narrowed slightly, but in thought rather than ire, as though she were concocting the beginnings of a plan. "I see. You didn't answer my question, Adrian. Did you really _want_ to go?"

Looking slightly taken aback by the subtle intensity in the question, Adrian pressed her hand to her breastbone, answering after a slight pause, "Yes. I… I wanted to go, I suppose. So yes, I did." She nodded, more for her own benefit than Franziska's.

Nodding, Franziska straightened up, moving for the door with determined purpose in her stride. "Very well. Then we will go."

"How?! I… I don't have any formal gowns, Franziska!" Adrian looked rather confused at Franziska's abrupt change of mind as well as her confidence in overcoming a seemingly impossible situation. "I don't think I could fit into one of your dresses, either. I want to go, Franziska, but… we _can't_."

Franziska shook her head in denial, "I have no clothes to lend you anyway—that was never my intent. May I remind you, Adrian, that I am Franziska von Karma." The fervor that had made such a strong impression upon the shy American four months ago was very much present, surrounding each and every word she said. "There are things in this world that I do not do, and some that I _will_ not do." The prodigy's mouth tilted in the beginnings of a smirk. "But there are _very_ few things in this world that I _cannot_ do."

That said, she opened the door, beckoning Adrian to follow. "There's no point standing around and foolishly wasting time. Come with me."

--

"Five years ago, one of the very first cases I prosecuted was against a local small-time gang leader who harbored foolish delusions of grandeur. At best, his influence was limited to a select few blocks of land, though his claims to even that were rather tenuous. The case was quick and simple, and he was found guilty for his crimes," Franziska explained to Adrian as they walked briskly down the sidewalk, the blonde woman hurrying to keep up with her companion's determined stride.

"One of his key activities had been extorting the proprietor of a then-new fashion boutique into paying him rather exorbitant sums of protection money. As I was the prosecutor who put his oppressor away, the proprietor has claimed to owe me a favor ever since. I have not yet taken him up on the offer," the blue-haired prodigy nodded crisply as they walked, "though that will change tonight. He is… _competent_, yes, but more importantly, he is quick."

Adrian flushed in embarrassment, putting a halting hand on Franziska's arm, bringing their quick pace to an abrupt stop. "Franziska… you don't have to do this for me," she looked bashful. "You shouldn't have to call in a five-year-old favor just for me."

The other woman shook her head, a slightly bemused expression finding its way onto her face. "Adrian… the man makes dresses. Should I ever need formal clothing for myself, I can easily afford it and will request it well in advance. I cannot foresee any other time where I would need to have a new dress immediately." She paused, not as if she were searching for the right words to say, but as if she were merely having trouble saying them. "I do not _have_ to do it, no. I _want_ to do it. Understand?"

That said, Franziska pointed at a small building across the relatively empty street, a squat, square establishment painted a bright, gaudy pink that made Adrian almost nauseous. Catching the look of disgust on her face, Franziska said, reassuringly, "…his taste in dresses is certainly better than his taste in building decorations."

Catching sight of the gowns adorning the mannequins standing in the display windows in their eternal poses, Adrian agreed. As the manager for an extraordinarily popular actor, she had seen a wide range of formal wear from the bawdy to the elegant, and while these were not of exceptional quality, they were more than passable.

Inside, the store was far less pink (thankfully). It was small but not cramped, with a few folding chairs lined up against one of the walls—the walls themselves covered with drawing after drawing of various ideas and concepts for formal-wear. Though Adrian really didn't have much of an eye for art, she could recognize the technical skill involved in drawing the elegant clothing.

Towards the back of the room, there was a small counter with a cash register, where a small man—probably the proprietor in question, thought Adrian—stood, idly turning through the pages of a fashion magazine. He looked to be in his fifties, with thinning (thought not bald) blond hair that hadn't quite gone gray yet. The man had a large, bushy moustache that Adrian thought looked rather ticklish, and he looked up when he saw them come in, smiling.

Franziska didn't return the smile as she marched through the doors resolutely, instead offering a curt nod in greeting. "Hello, Edmund Flick."

"Ah, Miss von Karma!" smiled the jolly-looking middle-aged man. "I trust you are well? What brings you to my humble establishment?"

Wasting no time with pleasantries, the prosecutor crossed her arms in front of her chest. "I require a formal gown, Mr. Flick."

"Yes, that… _is_ usually why people come to see me," said Flick, scratching at his moustache. "Is there something wrong with the one you bought from me a few months ago? If so, I'm sure I can mend it easi—"

The prodigy cut him off with a hand gesture, shaking her head. "I have no time to waste, Flick. The gown is not for me, but for her," Franziska indicated Adrian, who had been apparently trying unsuccessfully to follow along with the rapid German conversation.

The dress-maker looked at Adrian, stroking a non-existent beard, grabbing a pair of glasses that lay on the desktop and putting them on to see better, as if he were already planning out ideas in his head. "I see, I see… and when do you need it by, Miss von Karma?"

Franziska frowned, knowing the absurdity of the request but also knowing that she had a commitment to see it through. "I need it by tomorrow night. Eight in the evening, at the absolute latest."

Flick's glasses fell off his nose in surprise, though the chain that connected them to his neck prevented them from falling too far. "T-tomorrow?!" stammered the short tailor, scratching his head through his thinning hair. "Oh… oh, I don't think that's… that's extremely impossible, my dear."

The leather bullwhip cracked loudly against the countertop, and the tailor shrieked in surprise, jumping back away. "Edmund Flick! You have owed me a favor for five years, and I am calling in that favor tonight!" Franziska narrowed her eyes, pulling her whip taut above her head. "You will have a dress by tomorrow, and then your debt will have been paid!"

There was suddenly a soft hand on her shoulder, and Franziska turned to see Adrian caught somewhere between concern and laughter at the tailor's reaction. "Money… is not a problem," she said to the tailor in halting German. "All right?" Adrian smiled at the man, who nervously smiled back.

Grabbing his measuring tape, the dressmaker shuffled out from behind the counter, walking up to the blonde woman, nudging her to raise her arms, and beginning to take all sorts of measurements that he didn't actually write down. Flick mumbled to himself all the while, though he no longer seemed as terrified as before. At last, he nodded, hanging the tape around his neck. "All right. I believe I have some dresses that I could alter to fit you in time," he said almost to himself. With that, he walked off through a door in the back of the room, leaving the two women alone.

Franziska looked curiously over at Adrian. "What did you mean about price not being a problem?" she asked casually. "That… certainly seemed to convince him."

Adrian laughed softly, adjusting her glasses out of habit. "Well, it so happens that, as Matt Engarde's manager, I was often in charge of his sizeable bank account… which, it so happens, the police never saw fit to freeze, since he'd paid… his _contract_ in cash." The blonde American smiled bashfully, running a hand through her hair and shrugging. "Also, he, uh, never changed his PIN. So… money isn't really a problem."

The young attorney was silent for a few long seconds before replying, "You are aware that, legally, your actions are _questionable_ at best, yes?"

Her companion nodded. "I am. Technically, he still owes me four months' fee… so I thought I'd, uh, help myself to it while he was... occupied."

Franziska shrugged. "Very well. Flick is competent and quick, but we shouldn't take too long either. A von Karma does not 'shop,' Adrian—a von Karma 'buys.' We will be quick about this… all right?"

From the doorway, Edmund Flick's wavery voice called out for Adrian to come in and see some of the dresses. Franziska shrugged, indicating the door with a wave of her hand and taking a step back. "If he gives you any trouble," she said as she coiled her whip and hung it from her belt, "call me."

With that, she walked over to one of the folding chairs against the wall and sat down, trying very hard to not think about the past hour or so. Especially not the part where Adrian had crashed into her, the two of them forced up against the wall… where they were so close she could look deep into those dark eyes, flecked with little specks of color that she'd never noticed before but were so obvious once you really looked… where they were so close that they could have just leaned in and…

_Damn it._ That attempt had been a rather spectacular failure. Franziska felt her face grow warm for what seemed like the thousandth time today, and found herself really irritated that her body was apparently no longer obeying any orders from the mind whatsoever, opting to completely run on its own.

After what seemed like an hour where Franziska had been alone with only her thoughts—though what had likely only been five or so minutes—she noticed a flicker of motion from the doorway and looked up to see a very embarrassed-looking Adrian wearing a gown that _almost_ fit (though not quite)… the gown was olive-green, clashing rather horribly with Adrian's skin tone, and "artistically" baggy in areas that really shouldn't have been baggy at all.

"That is…" Franziska paused, searching for the perfect words, "…the single most hideous dress I have ever seen in my entire life. It looks like something that Scruffy would wear to a formal engagement." Franziska frowned to herself in thought before amending her previous statement, "If he were significantly smaller." Another pause. "…and female."

Adrian looked even more embarrassed, not meeting Franziska's scrutinizing gaze. "He only has a few that he could alter to fit me in time, Franziska. I can go try on some of the others, though, if you want."

The prosecutor nodded curtly. "I do. At this point, I think a trash bag with arm-holes would be a better dress than that… _thing_. There must be one in his selection that would be… adequate." For some reason, that particular word struck a chord deep within the lovely prodigy and she had no idea why. Adrian, meanwhile, nodded and disappeared into the back room a second time.

Despite Franziska's claim, it seemed that every single dress that Adrian appeared in, though a marked improvement over the first monstrosity, was completely _inadequate_ in the prodigy's eyes.

"I don't like that shade of blue."

"It looks like it cost ten dollars. Cheap material."

"Why is there a _bow_ on the front? Such a foolish place to put something so… tacky."

"That pink is even more nauseating than the building's."

"I don't even think you could make those ruffles on the arms look any gaudier if you _tried_."

After close to two hours, and a dozen different dresses that had all possessed some sort of grievous fault, Adrian Andrews was rather frustrated. "Franziska, I thought you said this was going to be quick!" she said, rubbing the bridge of her nose before replacing her glasses. She softened her voice slightly, looking back into the room. "I think we've only got three or more left… are you sure that we can't use any of the others?"

Franziska frowned, more at the situation than at Adrian. "Adrian, I hardly think it's unreasonable to want the best for the woman who is going to be my d," at that word, her tongue tripped over her heart, and it was only with great difficulty that she managed to push through the stumble, "my… date." Her face was growing hot again. "You are a… very attractive woman, and I think you should have, at the very least, a gown that adequately compliments your appearance rather than subtracts." For some reason, Franziska found the floor absolutely fascinating to look at. "Is that… all right?"

If she'd looked up, she would have seen the familiar flush return to Adrian's face, as the blonde woman nodded an affirmative. "I just… I think we're almost out of options. But… you're right. There must be one that's adequate here. I'll keep looking."

It was a long five minutes alone in the front of the boutique for Franziska, alone with her thoughts and her suddenly rapidly-beating heart. At last, mercifully, Adrian reappeared at the door to the back room. Franziska looked up, wondering what exactly would be wrong with it this time.

It was a pure white gown, the color of freshly fallen snow, a shade that contrasted Adrian's golden hair beautifully. Supported by a halter strap behind her neck, the garment cascaded down her body fluidly and naturally, so very simple but so very elegant and… Franziska found herself at a loss for words, unable to do anything but stare, blink, and blush.

"Well?" Adrian asked with that trademark half-smile of hers. "Actually, I… really like this one, Franziska. What do you think? Is it… adequate?"

Since she had been a girl, words had been extremely central to the life of Franziska von Karma. It was how she, as an attorney, pleaded her case in court. The slightest change in phrasing could carry oceans of meaning. Franziska had argued matters of life and death involving people from the unknown to the famous without missing a beat. And yet, in this small, horribly pink fashion boutique, with this shy American woman in front of her, she found herself unable to even string together a coherent sentence.

"…perfect," she managed to say at last. "It's… perfect."


	9. Dances

**Follow the Fool**

_Nine_

It was Friday night in Hamburg, and Franziska von Karma found herself oddly engaged in preparing for an event she'd only been convinced into attending little more than a day before. The young prodigy applied the last touches of makeup to her face gently and sparingly, tucked a few blue-gray strands of blow-dried hair back into their proper place, and… she was done.

From the living room, she heard Adrian call out to her, "Franziska, what time did you say we should be there, again?" The prodigy looked slightly annoyed, because the other woman's voice carried subtle hints of "Hurry up already!" While it was true that Adrian had been ready before her, it wasn't exactly fair—Franziska had only returned home barely half an hour ago. Meanwhile, Adrian had had all day to prepare, including a trip to the hairdressers (an appointment Franziska had obtained via whip-style-persuasion) that she'd returned from while the German woman had been in the shower.

All in all, not completely fair. Still, Adrian _had_ been prepared before her. Though Franziska still thought of the mid-summer Policeman's Ball as a foolish, extravagant event, it was clear that the shy American woman was rather looking forward to it. As much as she hated to admit it, Franziska wasn't nearly as opposed to the idea as she had been a day ago.

Slipping her stocking-clad feet into the high-heeled black shoes she had selected, Franziska checked herself one final time in the mirror before turning the bathroom light off, and crossing her bedroom to the living room where Adrian was waiting for her.

While Franziska had seen Adrian in her dress yesterday afternoon, it hadn't fit quite right—and she hadn't spent a few hours getting the rest of her ready then, either. As Franziska had been in the shower since Adrian had come back from her appointment, neither of them had seen each other fully prepared for the event. Even so, it wasn't very likely that either of them expected such a stunned silence to fall upon the pair.

The two of them were opposites—while Adrian's snow-white dress cascaded fluidly down her body, gently clinging to the curves of her upper body before loosely flowing to the floor, Franziska had chosen a sleek black gown that hugged the contours of her body tightly and precisely, plunging to the floor with almost a tangible sense of purpose or intent. Adrian's long blonde hair was pinned up elegantly (though she still wore her glasses, not having replaced them for contacts), while the prodigy of the courtroom hadn't done anything particularly special with her blue-gray locks.

Though they were opposites, they were almost complementary in nature, a sort of individual yin and yang, both giving and receiving in return. More tangibly, they both suddenly found themselves wearing matching blushes, quickly averting their eyes from the other.

Adrian was the first to break the thundering silence, looking up and smiling coyly at the other woman, reflexively adjusting her glasses as she spoke. "Franziska… wow. You're… you're absolutely stunning."

Franziska swallowed, fighting the urge to stare at the floor, overwhelming though it might be. "Thank… thank you, Adrian," she managed at last. "You look… wonderful tonight, yourself." The young prosecutor knew she looked sharp, but was acutely aware that she was a dimly glimmering star compared to Adrian's brilliant supernova—and somehow it didn't really bother her.

The blonde American laughed, shaking her head. "This is so silly. I feel like I'm back in high school, going to my senior prom again."

"I... never went to any sort of prom," Franziska said in a soft reminder. "Being a prosecutor doesn't leave much time for frivolous things like that."

Adrian laughed good-naturedly again, smiling a friendly, reassuring smile at her host. "Oh, don't worry, you didn't miss much." She paused, closing her eyes for a brief moment before opening them again. "I think that every senior secretly hopes that it'll be a perfect night, one final storybook ending. That something _magical_ will happen. But… something always goes wrong, you know? It's just a silly student fantasy."

Arching a slender eyebrow, Franziska inquired, "What went wrong for you, then?"

Blinking, Adrian paused for a moment in memory. "My… date was really a sweet, gentle guy who barely managed to muster the courage to ask me—I hadn't even really planned on going. The only trouble was, he was about twice my size, and the one time we tried to dance, he kept stepping on my feet and almost tripped me." She blushed in embarrassment. "Really, it was just a silly comparison. I'm surprised you didn't go all in and hire a limo, though," her voice was gently teasing.

Across from her, Franziska shook her head. "I thought it was a foolish, frivolous, and absolutely unnecessary expense." She paused briefly, "also, there were no companies willing to hire at such a last-minute notice."

Before Adrian could respond, Franziska had already grabbed her car keys and headed for the door.

--

The event had been going on for a few hours by the time the two arrived at the large hall rented for the occasion. Eventually, Adrian had managed to convince Franziska that the valet was probably competent enough to be trusted driving the young prosecutor's compact car for a minute or two, and the pair made their way to the main ballroom. There was a tall man in a tuxedo standing at the entrance, who looked up at the two women as they approached. "Your name, Madam?" He said, adjusting his reading spectacles as he checked the list in front of him.

"Franziska von Karma," said the prodigy curtly, adjusting the long velvety gloves she wore as she talked. She briefly glanced to the blonde woman standing at her side, amending her declaration, "…and date." Adrian smiled gently, adjusting her glasses as she slipped her arm inside Franziska's, not saying a word.

Without waiting for the majordomo to check her name off the list, Franziska pushed her way past him, silencing his protests with a glare. The two women found themselves inside a large elliptical ballroom. The room's border was dotted with white-clothed tables that varied in size, ranging from smaller ones that could only seat two or three people, to massive pieces that could comfortably fit twenty or more. Many of these tables had people seated at them already, with food and drink set before them, but some were empty.

Off to the side, there was a long table piled with hors d'eouvres of every type one could imagine—and right behind that, there was a well-stocked bar that seemed to be immensely popular and crowded. At the opposite end of the ballroom was a raised stage where the live band was seated. There were about ten of them, and Franziska's sharp eyes could pick out quite a variety of instruments—there were cellos and violins and flutes and all the rest that one expected of a chamber orchestra, but it also looked as though there were guitars and other, more colorful instruments for a wide range of styles. They were, undoubtedly, being paid handsomely for their talents.

"Taxpayer money at work," said Franziska, irritation coloring her voice (though she spoke softly enough that only Adrian could hear her). "Such a foolish, extravagant waste, spent on foolish, extravagant, fools."

Adrian peered over her glasses at her companion, a slightly-bemused expression on her face. "These people—and you—work hard all the rest of the year at finding and catching criminals and bringing them to justice." She shrugged, giving Franziska's arm a soft, affectionate squeeze. "I think that you deserve a night to relax and have fun. So… try and relax, Franziska? Please?" Though there was a laugh in her voice, the younger woman could plainly hear the request beneath it.

Franziska nodded silently in response, leading Adrian over around the dance floor in the middle (where there were several couples dancing, all exhibiting varying degrees of inebriation) to one of the small tables on the side. The beautiful prosecutor pulled out a chair for Adrian before sitting down elegantly and properly herself. "I will… try to relax, Adrian," she said at last, nodding again.

Her companion gave that knowing half-smile again, placing her slender, bare hand on top of Franziska's velvet-gloved one, giving it a brief squeeze. "I know you will, Franziska. Don't worry about it." Despite Franziska's fierce attempts to order otherwise, her heart began racing yet again. She refused to give into the temptation to look at the floor, though, instead forcing her gaze up to Adrian.

She was a prosecutor. Her life was based around finding details and piecing together the most minute aspects of a case to solve puzzles of life and death. She had to be as observant and sharp-eyed as she could be… so it was shocking, really, that there was so much about Adrian Andrews that she simply had not noticed. The little specks of color in her dark eyes that reflected the dim, muted light in the ballroom, for one… but also, just the way the corner of her mouth curved up in a half-smile, or how the slight blush coloring her cheeks contrasted the rich golden color of her hair wonderfully, or how there was that one loose strand that had worked its way out of her carefully-done hairstyle to softly brush against her face…

Franziska could feel her cheeks getting fiercely hot again, and reflexively looked away, telling herself that the bottle of champagne in the bucket of ice in the middle of the table was truly fascinating to look at. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Adrian with her hand over her mouth, repressing what might have been a giggle.

The embarrassing silence was mercifully interrupted by a young waiter with an attractive-looking if boyish face, who held a bottle of wine in his hands along with two wide-mouthed, crystal glasses that he set on the table in front of the pair. "Madams, the establishment's drink of the night tonight is a very delightful Alsace Riesling, vintage '03. Very light, dry and flavorful, I recommend it highly."

Nodding an affirmative, Franziska gestured to the empty glass in front of her with a gloved hand wordlessly, and the waiter obediently moved over, tilting the bottle and filling her glass with the expensive white wine until she cut him off with another silent motion. Across the table, Adrian frowned in thought for a moment before asking the waiter for just a little bit in hesitant but accurate German.

As the waiter moved on to the next table, Franziska brought the glass to her mouth and took a small sip of the drink, nodding silently in approval to herself. She'd never really had the time to spend on such frivolous things like wine, but it was a guilty pleasure she allowed herself once in a while—and she knew a good vintage when she tasted it. "For such a short time studying it, your German is astounding," she said softly, putting the fine crystal glass down on the white tablecloth.

Adrian blushed, laughing softly. "I've had a lot of time to work on it," she admitted. "Besides, Officer Ernst would teach me phrases here and there as he showed me the city. I learned 'just a little' fairly quickly after his mother decided to cook us a lunch," she giggled brightly again. "It's just phrases here and there… but thank you, Franziska," smiled the blonde American.

Looking over at the couples dancing on the ballroom floor to what was apparently a waltz of some kind, Adrian looked almost eager as she turned her attention back to her companion. "Franziska, would you like to go dance? It might be fun!"

"No, thank you," said Franziska softly if resolutely. "I find it… foolish and cumbersome, hardly dignified. Dancing is for those inebriated fools over there to trip and fall all over themselves."

"Oh," said Adrian, looking disappointed and taking a sip of her own wine. "I see, then."

The two of them were silent for several more minutes, looking awkwardly over at one another briefly, then quickly glancing away before they were caught doing so. Franziska tried to concentrate on the live band up on the stage, admitting that they were very good, and also very versatile. Once they finished the waltz they'd been playing, their leader—a short, mousey woman with short, dark hair—announced that they would next be playing a samba of sorts, and her musicians moved to swap instruments accordingly.

However, their plans were cut short as a tall man in a sky-blue tuxedo (that Franziska thought was absolutely _hideous_) stepped up to the stage, apologizing to the musicians for interrupting, and appropriating one of their microphones for himself. Though he had a bit of a pot-belly, he wasn't exactly overweight, with a dark black beard and neatly trimmed black hair framing a surprisingly friendly face. He was powerfully built, though he had the appearance of a weightlifter or athlete gone to seed over the years.

"The Chief of Police," said Franziska to Adrian, pre-empting her question. As she spoke, she reached for the opened bottle of champagne chilling in an ice-bucket on a little platter in the center of the table, pouring herself and her date two glasses of the bubbling liquor in tall, thin glasses that had been set aside, presumably for this exact purpose.

"What are you doing that for, Franziska?" asked the blonde woman, adjusting her glasses absentmindedly. She didn't seem all that inquisitive, merely slightly curious.

Indicating the Chief with a small nod of her head, Franziska sat back in her chair, sighing softly as she spoke. "At every event, the Chief supposedly gives what he believes to be an 'inspirational' speech, culminating in a toast. He is a foolish man in his position merely by circumstance, though I… _suppose_ that he is competent enough," Franziska said, a slightly irritated tone in her voice. "Though I do not respect the man or his ways, I do respect his office, and I will… reluctantly… participate in the toast."

Adrian looked thoughtful. "I don't really know if you should toast something you don't believe in," said the woman in the snow-white dress softly, almost dreamily.

The tall Chief of Police began to speak, a rich, resonant voice—though even Adrian could recognize slurring where it normally shouldn't be. Ever so often, the ballroom (which was now focused on the blue-suited man up on the stage, if only temporarily) would break out into loud peals of laughter. Franziska did recognize that being one of the few people to not understand what everybody else was laughing at must be rather awkward and embarrassing… and besides, his 'jokes' were as devoid of any actual comedic content as that pathetic clown's had been back in America. It was not hard, then, to keep herself from laughing, but she put extra effort into it for Adrian's sake.

As the Chief spoke, Franziska gave a rather loose translation. "He's welcoming everybody… telling how glad he is to see us here, thanking the staff and musicians…" there was a very dull tone in her voice, as if even relaying the speech was excruciatingly boring. "He's very drunk, obviously. He's talking about the duties of the police department, recognizing individuals for their achievements." Several detectives were called to stand up and give a little wave to polite applause—which both Adrian and Franziska participated in—as their names were called.

Franziska sighed. "Ah, here comes the toast. Yes, the duties of policemen and detectives are what should always be focused on. Etcetera, etcetera, 'to duty.'" That said, the room collectively echoed the Chief and downed their champagne. Franziska merely sipped it.

However, Adrian hadn't drunk it at all, a rather pensive look on her face. "'To duty,' then? Hmm… I don't think that's a… very good toast, really," she said, looking slightly embarrassed. "I mean, maybe to a police officer, but…" she laughed softly, pressing a slender hand to her breastbone, "not to me. Not right now, anyway," she amended.

Pausing for a second, Franziska set her champagne glass down on the table next to her other drink, raising a blue-gray eyebrow. "Very well, Adrian… what would you like to toast to, then?"

Adrian held her glass up in the air for a moment, and then lowered it, a bashful look on her face. "I… uh… can't really think of anything to toast to," she admitted with a short self-deprecating laugh. "For some reason, all that's coming to mind is when I went to a distant relative's wedding… and her father, who was extremely drunk, raised a toast… to toast."

The prosecutor blinked. "…the food?" she asked warily, as if she was certain Adrian couldn't _possibly_ mean that.

With a giggle, Adrian nodded. "Yes, the food. I think he tried to compare… buttered toast… to marriage somehow." She frowned, as if searching for the specifics of a memory that wouldn't come. "I… really can't imagine how he ended up doing that, actually." She smiled softly. "Anyway, I'd like to toast to something… well, profound, really. And, as nothing's coming to mind right now, I'll just have to wait!"

"Very well," nodded Franziska, a bit stiffly. "Then I will wait."

Now that the band was playing again, the blonde American looked out at the dance floor once more. "Are you… sure you don't want to go dance, Franziska? Just once?"

Once more, Franziska shook her head, sipping her wine but giving no indication that her feelings about the foolishness of dancing had changed in the past fifteen minutes. Again, Adrian looked disappointed, though the prodigy tried to pretend she didn't notice.

Suddenly, there was a surprisingly loud cough from behind them, and the two women turned to see one Hans Ernst, looking relatively dapper and neat (though dressed in a tuxedo that looked a bit old, and just one size too small). The young patrolman stiffly started to salute before remembering he was off duty and opting for a more formal "at attention" pose instead. "Good evening, Prosecutor von Karma! Good evening, Miss Adrian Andrews!" he said in his thickly accented English. "It is very nice to see you here!" he continued, awkwardly.

The powerfully built young officer flushed softly, becoming even more stiff and awkward (though that hadn't really seemed possible to the two women). "I… was wondering if either of you elegant woman would give me the honor of a dance tonight!"

Narrowing her eyes, Franziska shook her head curtly. "No," was all she said before taking another sip of her wine—emptying the glass—and looking off to the side at nothing in particular. Despite his size, Hans seemed to shrink, looking rather dejected.

"Franziska…" said Adrian chidingly, a frown she didn't let show on her face clearly in her voice. That said, she stood up, and in an exaggerated curtsey offered her hand to the young patrolman. "Officer Hans Ernst, I would be honored to dance with you. Lead the way," she said the last part in German, shooting a look over her shoulder at the still-seated Franziska, who suddenly felt her face grow hot inexplicably. Adrian took Hans' arm and the two went off to the dance floor.

The waiter returned, seeing an empty glass in front of the young prodigy, and filled it again at her wordless request. She took another sip, trying not to look over at the dance floor. The band had moved into a sort of tango, it seemed, and it didn't look like either Hans or Adrian had any clue how to dance a tango. Still, the two of them, from what Franziska was _absolutely not looking over at_, seemed to be having a wonderful time just making it up.

Franziska scowled, and she had absolutely no idea why she was doing so. She felt… annoyed, or irritated, or angry, and there was absolutely no logical reason for doing so. Yes, she was at this foolishly extravagant event, but it really wasn't _so_ bad, and she was there with a rather remarkable woman as her… companion, and for some reason now she found herself even more annoyed.

As ludicrous as it was, Franziska realized that she was jealous—which was irritating in and of itself. Not only did von Karmas _not get jealous_ (after all, what could perfection possibly have to be jealous of?) but… there was no _reason_ for her to be jealous, anyway, right? Though she couldn't hear it over the music of the band and the dull roar of conversation in the ballroom, she saw Adrian burst out laughing in delight as she danced with the good-natured policeman, possibly over something he'd said or done, she couldn't tell.

Continuing to scowl, Franziska turned her chair around so that it was facing completely away from the dance floor, looking at the colorful random patterns that covered the walls of the ballroom. Even though she was _absolutely not jealous_ over Adrian's decision to dance with Hans, she didn't… want to watch such unbridled foolishness take place, that was all.

She had been glaring intensely at the wall for about a minute when, out of the corner of her eye, Franziska saw a male figure approach her. Even if she hadn't seen the black, military-cut tuxedo with the crimson-lined cape, or the long ponytail draped over his shoulder, she would have recognized Gunther Hertz immediately by his silly, loping walk. The defense attorney stood behind her, apparently gazing at the wall just like she was, and Franziska hoped ineffectively that he would just give up and go away if she didn't acknowledge his presence.

After about half a minute of silence spent scrutinizing the wall, Gunther spoke, almost thoughtfully, "if I tilt my head like this, and close my eyes _just right_, I think I can see what looks like an elephant. But then again, I'm rather drunk, so it's entirely possible that I'm making it up!" He laughed loudly to himself. "And I notice that you are by your lonesome, my dear Prosecutor von Karma… but you are here, nonetheless! How are you finding yourself on this fine night?"

Her voice was flat, a monotone. "Is there anything I can say that will convince you to leave me alone?" She took another sip of her wine, and suddenly felt that her velvet gloves were far too uncomfortably hot. Though it wasn't entirely the most proper way to go about it, Franziska gently bit the thick material, taking the long dress gloves off with aid from her teeth.

"No, no… not really, Miss Prosecutor." Gunther drew up a chair, sitting beside Franziska and resting his boot-clad feet idly against the wall of the ballroom. "I _am_ glad to see you and your companion here, you know! After all the trouble I went through to sneak in through the back entrance, it would have been _most_ disappointing to miss two of the people I invited myself!" He laughed again, rocking slightly unsteadily in the chair.

Franziska turned her head, looking at him with a glare that fell somewhere between mildly curious and absolutely disgusted. "Exactly how drunk are you, Gunther Hertz?"

Laughing again, Gunther shook his head, his long ponytail flying wildly by as he chuckled. "Oh, that is an _excellent_ question, Miss Prosecutor. But… on a scale from one to ten?" He paused in thought. "I am _extremely inebriated_." Franziska saw him turn to look at the dance floor (the one she was absolutely not looking at under any circumstances whatsoever), chuckling once more to himself. "Ah, your friend seems to be enjoying herself!"

Suddenly, Franziska felt herself desiring to punch Gunther in the face even more than she normally did. Completely inexplicably, of course. She crossed her now-bare arms in front of her, frowning to herself silently, letting Gunther continue talking. "You know… I don't know if your American friend understands me," the flashy defense attorney sounded almost pensive. "Perhaps… my comparisons and metaphors do not make as much sense in English, no?"

"I find it hard to believe there is a language in this world in _which_ you make sense, Gunther Hertz," said Franziska softly, taking another sip of the dry, sweet wine.

The defense attorney looked at her, a lopsided grin on his face that she supposed might have been charming if it had been on anyone else but him. "Well said indeed, Miss Prosecutor!" He looked almost thoughtful for a moment. "You know, Prosecutor von Karma, I've been thinking,"

"Is that a fact?" Franziska said dryly, interrupting him.

"Oh, it is! I've been thinking about how _possibly brilliant_ my rose metaphor was when I first saw the two of you the other day at the Courthouse." The tall man stroked his chin, covered with what seemed to be perpetual blond stubble, as he talked. "I said that you were the those, and that your lovely companion was the rorns."

He paused. "I believe I meant to say thorns and rose, but it is _entirely_ possible that my mistake was intentional. Anyway! Your friend? She is the rose. But what is a rose without its thorns, I ask you? It certainly is a lovely flower, yes, and smells just as sweet… but it is defenseless! It is vulnerable! And there are tons of other lovely flowers out there, that are just as red, just as white, or even pink! No, the rose _needs_ the thorns, I say. Or else… it is not a rose!"

Gunther grinned, idly playing with the bottom of his blond ponytail. "And you, my dearest Prosecutor? Oh, you are the thorns. The thorns are prickly, and they hurt and scratch! Much like kittens can hurt and scratch!" He blinked once, pausing in the middle of his speech. "…I wasn't talking about kittens, was I? Regardless, thorns hurt. But with the rose, the thorns are what gives it _character_, what makes it so truly beautiful. For yes, it is lovely, but yes, it can hurt! Separated, the rose and thorn are generic and… _boring_. It is only together that they are truly what they are!"

He continued on his impassioned metaphor-turned-rant, pointing a finger out directly at the wall. "And then you have the stem! The stem, why… it is _green!_ And it has those little… tubes… that ferry the water up and down so that the rose may bloom and that the thorns may… well, the thorns don't really need water to scratch and prick, do they? They are… green, though." Gunther paused, scratching his head slightly bashfully. "I do believe I may have extended that metaphor slightly too far, Miss Prosecutor."

"Really." Franziska's statement was hardly a question as she placed her mostly-empty glass of wine back on the table.

Gunther cleared his throat, sitting up straight. "My point… may have gotten lost in the metaphor, I'm afraid. My point was that you," he pointed straight at the young prodigy, who reflexively jumped slightly—her stern self-discipline was slightly sluggish, Franziska realized with a frown—"should go ask her," his finger pointed in the general direction of the dance floor, "to dance. _That_ was my point. And now that I have made it…?" He laughed jovially. "I shall move on! I hear that the chefs make an absolutely wonderful banana flambé. I suppose being covered in fire does improve its flavor, somehow." With that, he got up and started to leave.

"Gunther." Franziska's voice was curt and hard as it usually was when in his presence, though tinged with a sort of pensive contemplation that she herself was surprised to notice.

The flashy attorney turned, arching a blond eyebrow. "Yes?"

"How… why do you do it?" The prodigy's face was flushed with possibly slightly more than just embarrassment. "How are you so _jovial_ all the time? You have stood in court opposite from me forty-two times. Forty-one of those times, your client was found guilty. Almost all of them confessed to their crimes during trial."

Franziska swallowed despite herself, tucking a maddeningly stray strand of blue-gray hair back into place. "How? You take the cases of guilty people—of murderers, and thieves, and extortionists… you defend people who have broken the law, and yet you stand here, and you are drinking, and you laugh. Every time I see you, you _laugh_, even after a loss. How do you defend those people?"

Gunther, surprisingly, was silent as he tilted his head to the side, smiling as always—though it was more subdued and wistful than his normal grin. His voice, likewise, was strikingly calm, sober, and serious. "Because someone has to. Even the guilty deserve a fair trial, Franziska." He bowed formally, the blond ponytail flopping over his shoulder. "Good night, Miss Prosecutor. _Do_ consider my advice?"

With that, he faded into the crowd once more. As he was presumably headed in search of the aforementioned banana flambé, Franziska didn't feel it was incredibly unlikely that the fool would end up setting the place on fire. _A fool, spouting foolishly foolish metaphors about foolish subjects that he foolishly presumes to be able to speak about_.

Maybe, though… even Gunther Hertz could be right, once in a while? It was not absolutely impossible, Franziska allowed. Even the smallest probability still had a chance.

Franziska stood up and turned around in the direction of the dance floor—and jerked back, startled, as she saw Adrian right in front of her, having returned from her dance with the lumbering policeman, who was no longer visible. Clearly not having expected Franziska to move so suddenly, Adrian jumped back a little as well before laughing softly at the silliness of the situation.

The young prosecutor hadn't expected Adrian to be right there. She'd briefly allowed herself to imagine a brisk, swift walk onto the dance floor where she would separate the elegant blonde woman from her clumsy partner… so, finding Adrian right in front of her had certainly sent that plan off to a bad start. "Oh! Adrian… I… did you enjoy your dance?" She said, flushing despite herself.

Adrian smiled. "He was twice my size and kept stepping on my feet," she admitted, though she never kept smiling. "But at least _he_ would dance with me," said the American pointedly, peering over her glasses at the suddenly-flustered prodigy.

The two of them stood silently, Franziska trying to collect her jumbled thoughts and trying not to blatantly avert her eyes, Adrian looking rather happy and amused after her session on the dance floor. The blonde woman suddenly reached down, grabbing her glass of champagne. "I've thought of a toast, Franziska," said Adrian with a grin.

"Oh. Very well, then," managed the prodigy as she willed her thoughts and mind to unscramble themselves, picking up her own glass. "What, then, shall we toast to?"

The blonde woman smiled softly, raising her glass ever so slightly. "To foolishness," she said quietly, before taking a drink of the bubbly liquor.

Franziska had already started to drink her champagne by the time the words registered in her head, and she stopped abruptly, puzzled and slightly irritated that Adrian would be mocking her so, even as gently and well-intentioned as it was. "…excuse me?" Her eyes narrowed slightly—and then widened, as Adrian suddenly grabbed her hand. "…what are you doing, Adrian?"

"_I_ am not doing anything. _You_, right now, are asking me to dance. And I've accepted." With that, Adrian led a protesting Franziska out onto the dance floor, weaving through the multiple couples already dancing as the band finished their current song and switched instruments for their next number.

"I… I protest!" said Franziska softly but fiercely, once Adrian had found an appropriately empty space for the two of them. "This is… this is foolishness, only enjoyed by… by fools!" Her face was flushed a dark red, and the only thing that kept her from physically breaking Adrian's grip and storming back to their table was her sense of propriety (and possibly a _tiny_ little voice inside that was trying to tell her that maybe it wasn't _so_ bad out here).

Adrian smiled—it was certainly an amused smile, but that was not all it was. It was a gentle smile, almost a reassuring smile… caring, friendly, and a word that Franziska somehow couldn't place a finger on. "Well, I enjoy it, so I suppose that makes me a fool. And, you're out here as well…" the blonde American shifted her grip on Franziska's hand to a dancing position. "I think I recall a saying… about the woman who follows the fool, or something like that?" _That smile again_.

The band had started playing again, a slower beat that seemed to invite a more personal, subdued atmosphere to the entire ballroom. All around them, Franziska was dimly aware of countless other couples dancing… though it was muted and out of focus, dreamlike. Adrian looked a bit sad, tilting her head to the side. "If… you _really_ don't want to dance, you don't have to," she trailed off, looking disappointed.

Disappointed turned to startled-if-happy as Franziska placed her hand on the gentle curve of Adrian's waist, a suddenly resolute and determined look in the beautiful prosecutor's eyes and on her face. "I will dance," said Franziska softly, feeling the color on her cheeks and knowing that it matched the sudden flush on Adrian's face barely inches away almost exactly. "Even if it is foolish."

The other woman seemed suddenly flustered, as if she'd thought her plan out this far but hadn't really worried about what would come next. The brief confusion was suddenly replaced by subtle but extremely present happiness as Adrian rested her free hand on Franziska's bare shoulder almost tenderly. She could feel the faint pulse of the other woman's heartbeat through the palm of her hand, and it was racing just as hard and as fast as hers was.

There was probably a melody, there was probably a beat to the song, there was probably an entire world outside of that dance floor and the two of them, but it didn't really matter. Somehow, as the two of them started to sway in time with the music, they found themselves drawing together. It hadn't been intentional… it had just happened. Franziska's arm was around Adrian's waist, feeling the heat and warmth of her skin and body…

Adrian's hand had shifted, moving slowly up the curve of Franziska's shoulder to her neck, idly—subconsciously—playing with the other woman's neatly cut blue-gray hair as though it were the most natural, simple action in the world. Neither of them said a word; neither of them had to.

There was no motion, there was no 'in-between.' To think that time existed outside of that little section of the dance floor was foolish, of course. Adrian's cheek was resting against Franziska's, hot and solid and _so very real_. The lovely young woman in the black dress could feel the cold, hard wire frame of Adrian's glasses against her skin, and it should have been jarring and it should have been frustrating but it was just Adrian and that made it so very beautifully imperfect.

Neither of them said a word; neither of them had to.

Whether it had been Franziska's movement or Adrian's—or just a mutual agreement because it just _was right_—the two moved… they adjusted, shifting their position ever so slightly _her breath was hot on her cheek_, and for one perfect moment, their lips met, brushing across one another's so softly and so gently that it might as well have been imagined, ephemeral… if it hadn't been so very real.

Suddenly, the entire world came crashing back, the music and the band and the people around them… Franziska's face was flushing a deep, dark, red that she couldn't have imagined she was capable of. Her voice was stunned, shocked as she broke that perfect silence. "I… that was… I never… my first… it was my fi—"

Her voice was cut off as their lips met in a second kiss, this one far deeper and hungrier than the first. Adrian softly stroked the back of Franziska's head absentmindedly, pulling back for an instant _stray strands of her hair fell messily against her face, imperfect and wonderfully so_ before leaning in and resting her head on the German woman's shoulder comfortably.

"I couldn't tell," whispered Adrian in her ear, silver sensations running up and down her spine… there was a smile in her voice that Franziska couldn't see, but knew was there. A loving smile, a serene smile, a warm and happy and secure smile. Franziska had no idea how she knew that so absolutely, because she couldn't see it—it was illogical and irrational. It was Adrian.

The world was shrinking again, the only certainties the brief taste of strawberries _why strawberries?_ on her lips, the weight of Adrian's head on her shoulder, the heat of her body through two very thin pieces of fabric.

Though there was a pause before she spoke, Adrian's voice was smooth and unbroken. "I think I'm in love with you," she whispered so softly that Franziska might not have even heard it.

Every muscle in her body tensed up, from her feet to her stomach to her arms that suddenly squeezed Adrian just a bit too hard, eliciting a tiny squeak from the blonde woman. Franziska swallowed, staring out into the infinite space around them, her face still as red as ever. "O-oh," she managed at last.

"I hope you don't mind."

Franziska exhaled a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding, trying to will her extremely tense body to relax, but since it didn't seem like any part of her body was listening to anything her brain said anymore… it didn't really matter. The young prosecutor shook her head slowly, closing her eyes and ever-so-slightly resting her head on Adrian's. "I don't."

She could feel Adrian smile again at those two words, though nothing more was said.

There was suddenly a flash of light in the world that had somehow ceased to exist around them, and Franziska might have heard startled exclamations and screams if she'd been paying attention to anything but the taste of strawberries. Somewhere in the distant echo that was the ballroom, there was the signature flickering color of fire, but neither that nor the panicked cries could make the world matter again.

The sprinklers installed in the ceiling, though, were a different matter entirely. Though the fire spreading across the makeshift kitchen installation failed to register in the minds of Adrian and Franziska, their high-tech sensors recognized the heat instantly, and they activated, raining cold streams of water down on the partygoers before.

Freezing streams of water would be enough to jolt anyone out of such a reverie, but even that elicited a sluggish reaction from the two women. Franziska's first, involuntary reaction was to hold Adrian tight, to try and keep her from leaving and breaking the emotion… it wasn't until her senses returned to her that she realized the other woman was holding her just as tightly.

All around them, the dancers and musicians and drunkards were scrambling for cover, heading for the exit, while the staff ran around trying to salvage the disaster. Franziska thought she saw a familiar blond ponytail amidst the throng, and some part of her registered the fact that she had probably been right in her earlier prediction. But there still wasn't very much in the world besides her, the blonde woman in her arms, and the taste of strawberries on her lips—they were just now colder, and wetter.

The two of them stood still in the pouring water, slowly orienting themselves in reality. "Your… hair is ruined," pointed out Franziska softly, and it was true, because Adrian's precise, elaborate trusses were now wet, soggy, and limp.

"So is my dress… and yours," Adrian retorted, watching as each individual bead of water trailed down Franziska's jawline and then dropped to the floor. "We… should probably follow everybody," she said, her voice barely audible over the sound of the falling water.

Franziska nodded in agreement. "We should," and yet neither of them moved. Neither of them wanted to move.

And then, suddenly, foolishly, Franziska felt herself start to laugh. At the absurdity and the foolishness of it all. It felt nice to laugh.

Taking Adrian's hand in hers, the two followed the rest of the throng outside, into the rest of the world that only now existed.

--

Morning. Saturday morning, to be exact. Franziska von Karma generally preferred to get up on the early side of things so that she wouldn't waste her day. However, sometimes it simply felt nice to sleep in… she allowed herself a small, imperfect yawn, blinking her eyes to try and clear the sleep from them. Franziska nodded softly—she should really get up, start her day.

A quick glance to the side told her that getting up would be difficult at best. Adrian was fast asleep in Franziska's bed despite the relatively late hour, a smile on her face that Franziska really had no desire to remove. She would let Adrian sleep.

The only problem with that was that Adrian was lying directly on top of Franziska's arm. She wasn't actually lying _on_ it per se, that would have become rather painful. However, Franziska's arm and hand were rather trapped, and it looked like she wouldn't really be able to remove them without waking the blonde American from her rest.

Franziska was about to tap Adrian on the shoulder, waking her up… but something stopped her, caught her free hand right before it descended. She didn't really… _mind_ having her arm trapped like that, honestly. It wasn't so bad after all.

Gently slipping her other arm around the blonde woman's body, Franziska pulled up the sheets and allowed herself to fall back asleep.

**Author's Note:**

It's about bloody time.

Also, a fitting Valentine's Day Chapter, methinks :)


	10. Epilogue: Promises

**Follow the Fool**

_Epilogue_

Six months had passed since Franziska von Karma had last seen Adrian Andrews, in the middle of a crowded airplane terminal at the Hamburg International Airport. An awkward goodbye and embrace followed by a sudden, passionate if brief kiss, and then the blonde woman had been swept up in the unrelenting march of the crowd boarding the trans-Atlantic flight.

It had been five months since they had last talked, a brief conversation with a slightly-panicked Adrian relating the troubles she was facing regarding the art exhibit she'd lined up a job managing, and the theft of one of the pieces. As she didn't appear to be in any real danger, and Phoenix Wright was getting involved, Franziska had tried not to concern herself further with the matter. Miles trusted the spiky-haired defense attorney, and while that trust didn't completely extend through the family tree to his older sister, Franziska did admit that Wright was competent enough to handle any sort of mishaps that might occur. Still, she discreetly tapped into some of her contacts down in Los Angeles to keep an eye on the situation and ensure Adrian's safety.

Other than that, the pair hadn't been in contact since the middle of September, and it was now a week and a half into January. Of course, Franziska von Karma rarely did anything unintentionally, and this long silence was no different. The day she had driven Adrian to the airport to catch her flight after three weeks in one of Europe's largest cities, the two had talked—or rather, Franziska had talked, and Adrian had listened.

Her time in America, the breaking of her perfect win record, and her brief conversations with Miles Edgeworth had made one thing crystal clear to the young prodigy: ultimately, the path she was setting herself on would become dangerous and consuming, quite possibly destroying her as it had done her father. That nagging doubt had plagued Franziska ever since her plane had soared into the smog-covered skies of L.A, and she kept the assassin's calling card to remind her of that.

She had thought Miles to be weak, lost, in need of help when he had vanished, feigning his own suicide. She had realized, in the end, that Miles had actually been correct—that she, and her perfection-obsessed father, had been wrong. Franziska had realized that she had quite a bit of thinking ahead of her. Unlike her little brother, though, Franziska would not need to fake her death to ensure precious time to contemplate the true meaning of being a prosecutor. No, she would continue with her everyday life of putting the scum of the world behind bars… she could deal with minor distractions, after all.

"…_but not you, Adrian," Franziska had sighed softly. Why was this so damn hard to do? She rarely put this much effort into preparing her opening statements for a trial, but even with all her preparation, every word was a labor to get out. "You distract me, Adrian Andrews. I _notice_ things about you that I rarely notice on anyone. I… cannot stop thinking about you. I cannot stop thinking about how _I_ feel about you, and that is even more frustrating than the rest of it. But what's worse…? I _enjoy_ being distracted by you."_

_Something hurt. Not the way that the bullet had hurt as it pierced her shoulder, no, but a far more insidious, subtle hurt like someone was sliding a semi-solid stiletto right between her ribs. Franziska shook her head—_foolish thoughts of a foolish woman—_willing each and every word out of her lips. "And that is something I cannot afford right now, Adrian. Since the trial where… where we met, I have learned much. But I have not learned _enough,_" she said, purposefully not looking over at where the blonde American sat on her couch. _

"_There are still things I must do, things I must learn—and I must do them alone. I cannot afford to be so… distracted by having a… relationship, Adrian."_

_Though she was outwardly composed, Adrian's voice carried a soft tremor beneath it that was not hard to imagine easily collapsing into a sob. "So… you're saying, we…?"_

_Franziska nodded. "We must part as friends. Nothing more." She'd never quite imagined that _she_ could say something that had such a personal impact on herself, but the words were out there, and the stiletto was being twisted. Refusing to let herself panic, Franziska searched for the right words hastily, frustrated that they weren't coming to her as naturally as they normally did. "Adrian, this… this is the most rational, reasonable choice."_

"_Franziska, it's…it's… romance_!_ I don't know if you've noticed, but rationality and reason don't really factor into it!" Franziska was unable to keep her eyes averted any longer, and looked directly over at the blonde woman. Adrian wasn't crying, she wasn't hugging herself in fear like she'd done once upon a time. She was visibly upset, of course, and her face was flushed with emotion, but otherwise she looked almost… calm._

_The prodigy bit her lip. "I'm… aware. Adrian, it is not fair to either one of us to continue being lo… girlf… _whatever_ we are. For eighteen years, I defined myself only in terms of my career. Now, it is… _one_ of the most important things to me in this world. This is something that I absolutely must do… on my own. It is not fair to me to be so distracted… and, especially if you are in America, I will not be able to give you the attention that you deserve, Adrian." Her voice dropped to a whisper, though it was still strong. "Adrian, this does not change how I feel about you in any way. And I would… hope that it doesn't change how you feel about me."_

_She sighed softly. "I do understand, though. I will not… ask you to wait for me."_

_No sooner had the words left her mouth than the shorter woman had responded with a slight shake of her head, "I will."_

_Franziska blinked in surprise. "Adrian… I… you… don't know how long it will be. A month, or a year… or three years, or more." As it had only taken Miles a year, Franziska didn't really think that it would take her that long… though she didn't actually say that, because her point was made. "I don't think it would be fair of me to ask that of you."_

"_It wouldn't," smiled Adrian sadly. "But I will… because I want to."_

_There was silence in the room, the two women sitting opposite one another, neither of them speaking._

_At last, Franziska slowly spoke, breaking the quiet. "I _will_ be in touch with you. You can… always call me if there's trouble… you know that, right?" Adrian's melancholy smile stayed on her face as she reached into her pocket and pulled out a well-folded piece of paper with only a number and a little message on it. She nodded wordlessly. _

"_I _will_ be in touch with you," repeated the prodigy. As Adrian's flight was rapidly approaching, they'd then set off for the airport in almost complete silence._

Franziska von Karma turned her chair around from where she was doing some paperwork relating to her most recent conviction in court and looked out the window. Six months… twenty-three weeks, thirty-two trials (all of them perfectly guilty, confessing so on the stand). It felt somehow like both an eternity and an instant at the same time, which made no sense at all. The January afternoon sky was dark and covered in clouds, and all the forecasts were for a snowstorm that night. Perhaps it would be best if she didn't go home, just for convenience's sake.

She had been spending more time at work lately—even more than she usually did. There was something about her apartment nowadays that seemed lonely and foreboding. After growing up in the sprawling halls of the von Karma estate, it seemed foolish to think that such a small, Spartan apartment could ever seem so cavernously empty and cold… but it did. Franziska's queen-sized bed that she'd grown up sleeping in was suddenly too wide and too big for just her.

It was frustrating to think that Adrian Andrews could still be such a distraction five months after they'd last spoken to one another.

The prosecutor's gaze kept flicking back to the dark, heavy sky. It was a timeless sky, the sort of cloud cover that could make three in the afternoon feel like nighttime. While working, Franziska had lost track of time… what time was it, anyway? Her stomach was starting to rumble in protest, and she couldn't remember eating anything at all, today. So, dinner it was.

There was that new Italian place a few blocks down from the Department building, but—they'd gone out for Italian that first Saturday… Franziska sighed to nobody in particular. There really didn't seem to be any point in the self-imposed silence now, really. The two of them hadn't been in contact for almost half a year, and these silly memories and foolish emotions hadn't ebbed at all. If she closed her eyes and let her iron composure wander for a few seconds, she could feel the warmth of the other woman's head resting on her shoulder and taste the ever-so-faint hints of strawberries on her lips…

If she'd been the sort of person who allowed herself such flights of weakness, Franziska would have chuckled to herself, shaking her head from side to side. _I'm such a fool._

Yes, she was still being distracted… but she'd succeeded, hadn't she? Over the many months since she'd decided to follow her younger brother's example, it had dawned on Franziska that there wasn't a true 'defining line' between where she had been and where she had sought to be. It wasn't as though she would wake up one day and suddenly know exactly what it meant to be a prosecutor once and for all.

It was a slow path, a steady evolution. It was continuous—one could not expect to remain rigid and inflexible, for then one would never learn anything. Perhaps the entire key was adaptation, then… adapting to the situation. _Including_ distractions.

Franziska stood, putting on her warm black coat—von Karma or not, she was human, and it was rather chilly outside. Neatly arranging the paperwork into piles that she would finish later, she exited her office, locking the door behind her out of habit. There was a strange weight in the pocket of her coat… reaching into the pocket, Franziska was puzzled to find the red cellular phone she (theoretically) used for all of her hypothetical personal calls. She hadn't remembered picking this up… oh well, there wasn't really any point in putting it back. There was no harm keeping it on her.

With a soft beep, the elevator's doors opened—there was a figure inside, a large, broad-shouldered man in a long white coat. When he saw her, Hans Ernst smiled broadly. "Evening, Miss Prosecutor."

The prodigy nodded in response, stepping into the car beside him. "Good evening, Patrolman." She paused, shaking her head and giving the slightest of embarrassed smiles. "Forgive me… it's Detective now, isn't it?"

Hans grinned again, reaching into the coat pocket and pulling out his shiny new badge that he seemed fond of flashing to anybody who would look at it in the two or so weeks since his promotion. "It is, Miss Prosecutor! Thanks for remembering!" The good-natured policeman laughed heartily. "I've been brushing up on my skills by watching old detective movies!"

Franziska was about to say that she didn't think those were _quite_ the best resources for honing one's crimesolving abilities, but before she could speak, the tall detective launched into what was clearly a well-rehearsed routine, complete with stereotypical Brooklyn accent and all. "So… where were you on the night of January 12th, pal?!"

_CRACK!_

Despite the relatively small, enclosed space, Franziska had nonetheless managed to get quite enough power into her strike, causing the young man to yelp and jump back in a mixture of pain and fright. The prosecutor held the whip above her head threateningly, an absolutely livid scowl on her face.

"Don't you _ever_ say that word, Detective!" threatened the prosecutor, giving a tug on her lash to emphasize the command.

Trying to shrink back into the corner of the elevator (not an easy thing to do with his size), a terrified Hans shook his head, holding his hands up in front of his face protectively. "W-w-w-what word?!" he stammered. "P-pal?!" When Franziska made a motion like she was going to repeat the strike, he nodded furiously. "O-okay! I won't say it! I won't say it!"

In one smooth motion, the whip was curled and tucked under Franziska's coat at her side. "Good," said the prodigy calmly (the silent threat never leaving her voice or face, though) as the doors opened on the ground floor, throwing the frightened and confused detective a curt nod as she exited the elevator.

Franziska pulled the large coat around her as she stepped into the frigid evening air, turning right and walking down the street. Perhaps she would find a new establishment… somewhere to eat that wouldn't distract her so much?

Then again… maybe distractions weren't so bad after all. It seemed more and more likely that she couldn't entirely avoid them, anyway. But she'd managed… and she would continue to manage.

Her hand was cold—looking down, Franziska found that she'd pulled the red cell-phone from its nesting place in her pocket. The prosecutor stopped walking, frowning to herself as she idly tapped through the different menu options, because she hadn't remembered grabbing it in the first place (nor did she remember ever _intending_ to do these things).

The very first name in the list, illuminated in bright blue letters, shone brightly through the darkening winter evening. _A. Andrews_.

…her thumb hovered over the 'call' button hesitantly, though Franziska willed it to not descend. Did she need more time? Was she… ready? _Can I adapt?_

A brief fleck of white passed by her vision, and Franziska reflexively looked up to the slate-gray sky as the snowflake was joined by thousands of thousands of its brethren. The white particles lazily drifted through the sky, catching the muted light of the city streetlamps. All around her, the world seemed quieter, hushed somehow. The prodigy stood there for a moment as snowflakes alighted upon her face and blue-gray hair and nose and lips that still bore the faint taste of strawberries.

Franziska smiled softly at nothing in particular, raising the cell-phone to her ear and pressing the 'call' button.

**The End.**


End file.
